


words hung above, but never would form

by newlifemoriarty



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arthur Morgan is a Bisexual Disaster, Arthur doesn’t get TB, Canon-Typical Violence, Dutch gets Redemption, Fix-It, I’m putting the Redemption in Red Dead Redemption, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, micah gets what he deserves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newlifemoriarty/pseuds/newlifemoriarty
Summary: Soulmate AU**“It’s along your left shoulder blade. It uhh... You’re gonna wanna keep it covered, son.” Arthur’s gut churned all the more at the implication. He had known that it might be a possibility, had caught his own lingering thoughts and glances where they shouldn’t go.“What’s it say, Hosea?” He demanded, his voice a little rougher than he intended. Hosea sighed.“Charles,” he said. “Charles Smith.”**Arthur knows that Charles Smith is his soulmate. He just has no idea if he is Charles’. When the disaster in Blackwater sends the Van Der Linde gang into a mad spiral, Arthur finds an anchor in Charles’ friendship. And just maybe, they can find a way out of this mess, together.





	1. A Kind Of Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a random thought I had on the bus one day and now it’s gotten kinda out of hand????
> 
> Also this is mostly canon compliant up to Clemens Point, so if it’s not mentioned in the story, assume it happened as per canon. I skipped over a fair bit of early game for the sake of getting to the bits I was interested in writing.
> 
> Title from Shrike by Hozier.

Arthur certainly wasn’t the sort to admit nervousness, especially over something as trivial as this. But as Hosea ran a thoughtful eye over his bare back, he was very aware of the churning feeling in his gut. If it weren’t for Dutch and Hosea keeping track, he would have forgotten it was even his eighteenth birthday today. Today was the day he would find out the name of his ‘soulmate’. Somewhere on his body a name had appeared, the name of the person he would one day fall in love with. Soulmate was the common term for it, but the way Hosea had explained it to him, Arthur felt that didn’t really capture it. ‘One true love’ was another way it was described but that was much to sappy for Arthur.  
“It’s a kind of promise,” Hosea had said when he explained it a few years ago. “Who ever it is, you’ll love ‘em, love ‘em like you never loved anyone before. But it ain’t guaranteed they’ll love ya back. Plenty folk got names that don’t match, even heard of some that got no name at all.”

When Arthur had woken, just before sunrise, he gave himself a cursory glance in the mirror that sat tucked in the corner of his room. They were in a small cabin at the time, an upgrade from the bat infested caves they had been holed up in for the last few months after one of Hosea’s cons when wrong unexpectedly and they had to wait for the heat to die down before popping over the state line. As he looked over himself in the mirror, he felt a small rush of relief when the name wasn’t immediately visible. Arthur was very much a private kind of guy, and having a name running up his forearm or, as it was for some feller they had met a few months back, right across his cheek bone, would have been a damn annoyance at best, or a death sentence at worst. As he was undoing the top few buttons of his shirt to get a look at his chest, there was a quiet knock at the door.  
“You up, son?” Hosea’s voice came through the door. Arthur gave a grunt in response and the door creaked open as Hosea stepped inside. He shut the door near silently behind him as Arthur continued unbuttoning his shirt.  
“Haven’t found it yet?” Hosea asked and Arthur shook his head. His chest was bared now, and there was still no sign of the name. Hosea’s hands gently caught the collar of his shirt and pulled it off his shoulders for him. Arthur had to admit that having Hosea here to check his back for him was gonna make it easier, but it still chafed at him a little. He felt like a dog raising its hackles, as he fought back the urge to tell Hosea to piss off and leave him alone. In the end, as much as he felt like it was no one else’s business but his own, he trusted Hosea. So he took the shirt out of Hosea’s hands and shifted into the light cast by the sunrise peeking through the window so Hosea could get a better look. He clearly found it quickly, as just as Arthur shifted his weight to one foot, Hosea was grabbing the shirt back and pushing it onto his shoulders with an uncomfortable urgency.  
“Hosea?” Arthur prodded as he shrugged the shirt back on properly, turning to face the other man as he began to do up his buttons again. Hosea’s brow was pinched a little, but he gave Arthur a comforting smile. He placed a hand gently on Arthur’s shoulder.  
“It’s along your left shoulder blade. It uhh... You’re gonna wanna keep it covered, son.” Arthur’s gut churned all the more at the implication. He had known that it might be a possibility, had caught his own lingering thoughts and glances where they shouldn’t go.  
“What’s it say, Hosea?” He demanded, his voice a little rougher than he intended. Hosea sighed.  
“Charles,” he said. “Charles Smith.”

There were many ways that Arthur was deeply thankful for Hosea and Dutch taking him in. This just added another thing to that long, long list. Right now he was thankful for Hosea’s hands on his shoulders while he breathed through what he would never admit was a panic attack.  
“It’s alright, son,” Hosea muttered as Arthur got his breathing back under control and the wild hammering in his chest calmed a little.  
“You ain’t gonna turn me in?” Arthur asked, looking up to Hosea with genuine fear in his eyes. Hosea shook his head firmly and gave him a wry smile. He then gently unbuttoned a few of the buttons on his shirt and tugged the collar aside to reveal his collarbone, with ‘Dutch van der Linde’ scrawled delicately across it.  
“Huh,” Arthur huffed quietly. “Does he know?” Hosea nodded.  
“Found out a few months after we started running together. I thought I’d be able to hide it, but when I got shot real bad in the shoulder I had to explain why I wouldn’t let him take me to a doctor,” he said.  
“And does he...?” Arthur waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the mark. Hosea gave a pinched, almost resigned smile as he shook his head.  
“Annabel,” he said.  
“Damn,” was all Arthur could say in response. Certainly explained the whole thing with Colm. “But he was clearly ok with you.”  
“Yeah,” Hosea said. “I never expected him to feel the same anyway, and we got... something, anyway. Even if it ain’t love... it’s something.”  
There was a gentle calm in the room now, as Hosea took a seat in the scuffed up chair by the window and Arthur slumped down at the foot of his bed.  
“So no, of course I ain’t gonna turn you in. And you don’t gotta tell anyone, not even Dutch and John, if you don’t want. Though, it’d be perfectly safe if you did want to tell ‘em,” Hosea said with a comforting and slightly mischievous grin.  
“You think John’d be ok with it?” Arthur asked. Hosea shrugged.  
“Don’t see why not. And even if he wasn’t, if he even thought about telling anyone, I’d shoot him before he got the chance.” Hosea’s voice was light and joking, and they both chuckled, but Arthur knew that he meant every word.  
“Thank you,” he said quietly, not able to make eye contact.  
“‘Course,” Hosea muttered before getting to his feet. “Come on, then. We celebrating your birthday or what?”

***

As the years passed, Arthur vowed to do his best not to worry about this ‘Charles Smith’, until he absolutely had to. People came and went from his life. He did his best by Eliza and Isaac, or at least he tried to. When he met Mary, he didn’t know what to think. He was certain he loved Mary, but the name on his shoulder said that she wasn’t ‘the one’. It gave him a small comfort, at least, when things went bad there. He hated that they had been doomed from the start, but he was still thankful for that small pocket of something that they had had together. The whole time, Hosea was the only one who knew the name of Arthur’s soulmate. Dutch and John knew it wasn’t a woman, but had never pried beyond that. And as their little group began to grow, they had all kept their silence. It was common enough for people to keep their soulmate’s name private, so no one really suspected anything. And Arthur was content to let things be. That is until, one day, Arthur and Dutch stumble on a man getting robbed on the side of the road. 

Just as they are about to pull their guns to drop the attackers, the ‘victim’ lets off two shots without hardly moving and the attackers drop like flies.  
“Well,” Dutch muttered, “guess you won’t be needing our assistance then.” The man looked up at them, heavy brow creased and eyes sharp. Damn he’s beautiful, Arthur caught himself thinking.  
“You could help me move these bodies and get the saddles off their horses,” the man said, his voice deep and heavy in a way that made Arthur think some rather sinful thoughts. As they swung down from their mounts to assist, Dutch offered a hand in greeting.  
“Dutch van der Linde,” he said and the other man accepted the shake.  
“Charles Smith.”  
Arthur was damn glad he was tucked behind Bodecia, cause he needed a moment to compose himself.

***

The rest of the conversation with Charles had been a blur, and next thing Arthur knew, the three of them were riding back to camp and Charles was being introduced to the rest of the gang. He was glad that it was late enough at night that he could get away with making a beeline for his wagon without having to field too many questions. He slumped heavily into his cot and ran a hand over his face, trying to get his thoughts in order. He heard someone clearing their throat nearby and glanced up to see Hosea giving him a knowing look.  
“You alright, Arthur?” He asked and Arthur let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a laugh.  
“S’pose I shoulda known things were gonna catch up to me eventually,” he muttered quietly in response. Hosea stepped forward and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.  
“Let me know if you need anything,” Hosea said and Arthur nodded.

 _Hosea is a damn godsend,_ Arthur scrawled in his journal the next morning. _He gets people more than they get themselves. And when he’s not using that to play people like a damn fiddle, he’s looking after this lot of emotionally stunted renegades. Dunno where I’d be without him. Actually, I know exactly where I’d be._

**_Dead_**

_Now CS has finally shown up. I’m a mess and I’m gonna get myself killed for sure. I was enough of a useless fool round Mary. Have no idea how Hosea kept his silence for months when he met D. I doubt I’ll last a week round CS._

He did, somehow, last a week around Charles. There were enough people in their gang now, and enough things to do, that he and Charles didn’t cross paths too often. Arthur found himself caught between wanted to avoid Charles at all times and wanting to spend every second around him. It was doing his head in. He tried to make sure any time he did spend around Charles, it was never just the two of them. Lounging around the fire at camp, riding out robbing, and once Hosea very mischievously took the two of them out on a hunting trip together. Two days straight of absolute torture, watching the tense pull of Charles’ shoulders as he drew his bow, the quiet, deep whisper of his voice as he pointed out the deer trails. He’s pretty sure he spent half the trip glaring at Hosea and the other staring wistfully after Charles.

The weeks turned to months, and Arthur became more and more convinced he was gonna loose his goddamn mind. One particularly warm evening Arthur was getting his ass handing to him in a round of poker with Tilly, Mary-Beth and Uncle. It wasn’t even that his hands were that bad. It was mostly that the seat he had chosen just happened to be directly across from where Charles was diligently chopping wood, his long, dark hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck. He didn’t even notice the cards being turned over until Uncle gave him a sharp prod with his elbow. He laid out his hand and Mary-Beth let out a little whoop of joy when it became clear she had won. She then ran a hand across her forehead and pushed the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbow.  
“It’s damn warm tonight!” She said and they all nodded in agreement. As Mary-Beth reached out to drag the chips towards her Tilly pointed to her wrist.  
“Hey now, what’s that?” She asked and Arthur would have seen Mary-Beth flush red if it weren’t for the fact that at that moment Charles swung down the axe with a low grunt that carried on the night air and split a log in a single clean swing. Arthur felt a jolt of heat run down his body and shifted a little on the crate he sat on, trying desperately to focus back on the other people round the table.  
“Kie—“ Tilly was saying, twisting to try and read something on Mary-Beth’s wrist. Mary-Beth blushed a little more before holding out her arm, palm facing up. ‘Kieran Duffy’ was scrawled lightly down her wrist.  
“Well now,” Tilly said with a grin. “Have you met him?” Mary-Beth shook her head.  
“No, but, Kieran is a really nice name, isn’t it?” She said, her voice bright and girly with excitement. Arthur suddenly wanted out of this conversation. Being part of a gang of outlaws meant that they were often all too busy or too gruff to bring up the whole ‘soulmate’ thing. It meant that Arthur rarely had to avoid talking about the words on his back that could easily get him killed. But now Tilly and Mary-Beth were cooing over the words on Mary-Beth’s wrist and Arthur felt like the words on his back were burning red hot, clear for all to see.  
“Arthur, come here a sec!” Hosea’s voice was a blessing, as he gave the girls his apologies and pushed his chips to the center of the table, before almost scurrying over to Hosea.  
“Whatcha need?” He said but Hosea gave him a knowing smile.  
“Theoretically, I could do with a hand checkin’ the horses. But mostly I heard what they were talkin’ ‘bout and figured you could do with bein’ elsewhere,” he said and Arthur let out a small, relieved sigh.  
“Thanks,” he muttered, moving to the next horse in the line, before giving a tiny, bitter chuckle. Of course it was Taima. He gave the Appaloosa a solid pat on the neck. She was a good, strong horse, and she suited Charles nicely. She calmly lifted each hoof as Arthur checked for stones and injury, and gave a thankful snort when he slipped her a sugar cube. Bodecia could share, he decided. He took a small moment to scratch at Taima’s forehead, and the mare leaned into his touch.  
“She’s not giving you any trouble then?” Charles’ low voice grumbled behind him and Arthur nearly leapt out of his skin.  
“Fucking Christ, Charles, you can’t just sneak up on a man like that,” he said, turning to face him. Arthur was very thankful for the fact that Hosea was just a few feet away. He was less thankful for that way he was cackling against Silver Dollar’s neck. He shot the old man a quick glare, but was quickly distracted when Charles stepped a little closer, running a hand down Taima’s neck. Charles’ hands were large and strong. Arthur had a lot of thoughts about those hands.  
“It’s good for her to be round a herd,” Charles was saying when Arthur zoned back in. “Running on our own wasn’t really working for either of us.” Arthur gave a thoughtful nod in response, but found his mouth a little too dry to form words. They booth stood in silence for a moment, Charles stroking Taima’s neck and Arthur running his fingers lightly through her forelock.  
“I know we haven’t had much time to get to know each other,” Charles muttered. “But I wanted to thank you. You’ve all been... a lot kinder than most.”  
Arthur shot him a glance out the corner of his eye to the other man.  
“We ain’t good men,” he said, stroking Taima down the bridge of her nose. “But we haven’t got time for useless bigotry.”  
“Don’t know if I’ve ever met any good men. But I’ve seen a whole lot of useless bigotry.” The chuckle that followed was dark but warm, and Arthur felt that warm spread across his own chest. He was a goddamn fool and he knew it.  
“So you’re thinkin’ of stickin’ with us?” Arthur was tense, but needed to know. One way or another.  
“Yeah,” Charles muttered. “Got more reasons to stay than to go.” He looked up at Arthur for the first time then, and their gazes held. Arthur felt like his back was on fire.  
“Good,” was all he could bring himself to say.

***

Blackwater was a disaster. Arthur hated turning tail and running, but they had no other choice. Now they were freezing in some remote mountain range and the only other fools up here were goddamn O’Driscolls. He was so cold and frustrated and exhausted he agreed to go hunting with Charles without even thinking. It wasn’t until they were out of sight of Colter that Arthur realised that this was the first time he and Charles had ever ridden out together, just the two of them. He kept the conversation going as best he could, and tried not to focus on the nervous energy whirling in his gut. He could get through a couple of hours of hunting. He managed to keep his head, mostly, until Charles was crouched just behind him while they searched for tracks.  
“There,” Charles whispered and Arthur was extremely aware of just how close the other man was behind him. He let out a slow breath, trying to focus on the tracks and not the warmth of Charles’ body at his back, so close all he would need to do was reach back just a little to touch him. He spotted the deer and managed to get it in one, clean shot.  
“Good.” Charles’ voice was deep and dark, and he was so close Arthur felt the warm air of his breath brush the back of his neck. He felt warmth pool low in his gut and swallowed deep, trying to distract himself. He had one more deer to kill after all.

After the second deer was shot and the carcasses were loaded on Taima and the Tennessee Walker that Arthur had ‘borrowed’ from the late Mr Adler, they returned to Colter in a tense but almost comfortable silence. Arthur couldn’t help but think if it weren’t for all his nerves and foolishness, he and Charles could be damn good friends. It was just a shame he wanted so much more.

With Pearson satisfied and a decent few meals on the way, Arthur was very pleased to be able to return to the relative privacy of his room. It was one of the only few blessing of this frozen place. He pushed the door shut solidly and sunk down onto the bed. Try as he might to do otherwise, all he could think of was Charles. The way he had breathed out praise in a voice that was barely a whisper. Arthur thought of all the ways he could earn that praise again, what he could do to coax those pleased hums from him. He was damn glad for the privacy after those thoughts.

***

The move down to Horseshoe Overlook certainly improved the mood at camp after Colter, but Arthur was too damn aware of how badly things had gone at Blackwater, and he still couldn’t wrap his head around it all. But he kept his head down as best as he could, and tried to follow Dutch as best as he could. Both things were getting harder. And that was without even beginning to account for his ridiculous ‘soulmate’ situation. The topic was coming up much too frequently for his liking, now that one Kieran Duffy was tied to a tree at the edge of camp with ‘Mary-Beth Gaskill’ running like a noose around his neck. No one knew what to do about that, especially not the couple in question. Arthur did his best to avoid the conversations, but it was getting harder and harder. So when Charles asked if he wanted to go hunting with him, Arthur realised that sounded like a much better idea than staying in camp pretending like he didn’t flinch inwardly every time someone said the word soulmate. So he agreed and they headed out.

Taking out the bison was surprisingly thrilling. Arthur had taken down some big game before, but there was a lot of satisfaction in taking down something of that size. He was surprised, too, at how comfortable he found himself around Charles. There was still that tension, the wanting and the fear chafing against each other constantly, but there was also a soft familiarity to it all. Charles was a quiet, reserved man, and Arthur never felt the need to fill the silence around him.

Arthur certainly wasn’t a fan of how that hunting trip ended - though he knew the poachers got what they deserved. But damn, seeing Charles’ cold fury was something. Charles always carried an air of strength with him, but seeing him turn that strength to an unflinching rage certainly had Arthur feeling a few things he wouldn’t dare put into words.

When he got back to camp, he had planned to head back to his wagon for a bit of rest, but was intercepted on the way by Strauss.  
“Mister Morgan!” He said as he strutted up to Arthur. “Mister Morgan, do you have a moment?”  
“Is this about the debt collecting?” Arthur grunted.  
“I have a few people who—“  
“No,” Arthur said sharply. He surprised himself almost as much as he surprised Strauss. As soon as he said it, however, relief wash over him.  
“Mister Morgan,” Strauss started again by Arthur was already walking away.  
“Find someone else to do your dirty work, Strauss. I’m busy,” he called over his shoulder. Strauss skittered after him however, so Arthur stopped. He then noticed the solution to his problem smirking at him from across the poker table.  
“Micah!” He snapped, pointing to the other man. “Get him to beat up some poor folk for money. He loves that kinda thing.” Micah stretched and slipped the knife he was fidgeting with back into his belt.  
“Sure,” he drawled, waving Strauss over to him. “If Morgan’s too soft for it, I’ll happily help out.”  
Arthur was to tired to even bother snarking back at Micah. With Strauss satisfied, he finally managed to make it to his wagon in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you Micah was gonna get what he deserved (and if anyone deserves TB in this game, it’s Micah)


	2. Like A Sunrise Over The Countryside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to wait to post this until I had chapter 3 drafted, but you guys have given me such nice feedback I decided to put up a little early. Glad everyone’s enjoying it so far.
> 
> Quick warning: A pretty horrific hate crime is mentioned at one point. Nothing super graphic is described, but just a warning.

It said a lot about how bad things went in Valentine that he barely even thought about his feelings for Charles as they sought out a new camp. Arthur was half way between furious and terrified, and all the way to confused as hell. But he had plenty of time to think as he sat at Clemens Point, waiting for the rest of the gang to arrive. He had pulled out his journal to try and jot down some thoughts, but found himself sketching out Charles instead. He flipped the book closed with a heavy sigh at the sight of lanterns in the distance, marking the arrival of the caravan.

 

***

 

Shocking, Arthur thought, a job from Uncle going wrong. He kept his bitter thoughts to himself, though, focusing on keeping as still and silent as possible. The lantern light passed over the barn and his breath caught in his throat. His eyes swept the room, marking where Uncle, Bill and Charles were all tucked out of sight. He paused on Charles, who was looking back at him. They held their gaze as the Pinkerton declared the barn empty and Arthur almost let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t get the chance to, however, because Bill chose that moment to knock a bucket over and start a shootout.

 

If there was one thing Arthur was proud of, it was his ability to keep a cool head in a gun fight. Even as the barn began to burn around them, he focused on taking shots that were as precise as possible, and keeping an eye out for a way out. When they got their opening, he ushered everyone out of the barn, and they all bolted, taking shots whenever they could. Just as he was starting to think they were going to be free and clear, an unfamiliar but distinct cry cut through the noise and Arthur spun on the spot in time to watch Charles hit the ground, face down.

“Shit!” Bill yelled, and took few quick shots in the direction the bullets had come from. Arthur’s feet were carrying him to Charles before he had even registered what had happened. But by the time he got there, Charles was already pushing himself up and back onto his feet, though very shakily. Arthur wrapped an arm around Charles’ waist and felt Charles loop an arm over his shoulder. The scurried as quickly as they could through the trees, Charles grunting just under his breath but otherwise silent. As the gunshots eased and it looked like they had a moment to breathe, Arthur turned to the others.

“Split up, get outta here,” he said as he waved them away. Bill seemed more than happy to go, but Uncle paused a moment and glanced at Charles. “I got ‘im, now get outta here.” Arthur grunted and this time Uncle obeyed.

“You still with me, Charles?” Arthur got a low grunt in response and the two of them shuffled into the night.

 

Arthur pushed as far as he could before finding a small clearing he felt comfortable stopping in. Charles was able to lower himself into a sitting position, while Arthur pulled out a lantern to give them a little light.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just a scratch, just caught me by surprise,” Charles said. Arthur nodded as he raised the lantern towards Charles’ back. It was a bit more than a scratch, running most of the way across his back at the level of his shoulder blades, but it didn’t look deep enough to need stitches. Arthur told Charles as much.

“That’s something at least,” Charles muttered.

“Take off your shirt, I’ll dress it for you.” It certainly wasn’t the situation Arthur had imagined getting Charles out of his shirt. He had asked without even thinking. He was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the slight hesitation Charles had, before peeling off the shirt. Arthur didn’t have any kind of medical training, but he had plenty of practice dressing bullet wounds, on himself and others. It wasn’t long before he had a bandage wrapped around Charles’ chest, stopping the bleeding. Now that the large wound wasn’t taking up his attention, Arthur indulged himself for a tiny moment, taking in the sight that was Charles. By now the very first rays of sunlight were pressing into the sky, and shimmering on the thin sheen of sweat that lay over Charles’ bare skin. For someone who had lived rough for so long, Charles had very few scars. But there was one large, particularly nasty looking one that ran across his right shoulder. Arthur didn’t even realise he had reached up to run his fingers along the ropey scar until he felt Charles flinch slightly under his touch.

“Sorry, I uh...” Arthur grunted, pulling his hand away.

“It’s fine. Just a... bad spot,” Charles said. Arthur was pretty sure that was the first time he had heard Charles stumble over his words. “Couple of folk I ran into when I was young. They didn’t like the look of me. Caught me by surprise and next thing I know, I’m tied up in their camp getting a damn good beating.” Arthur’s gut whirled with fury at the thought of people treating Charles like that.

“Damn,” he said and Charles merely nodded, running his hand over the scar.

“They took a particular dislike to... well to the name that was there.” Charles voice was quiet now, and had a soft, sadness to it that Arthur had never heard before. He clenched his jaw as he realised what Charles meant.

“Jesus,” he spat.

“I don’t think he had much to do with it,” Charles said with a sad, bitter laugh.

“So what, they fucking cut it off?” Arthur asked, fury boiling in his gut.

“Yeah,” Charles grunted. “Said that, people like me couldn’t have soulmates. Cause we haven’t got souls.”

Arthur let out a disgusted huff. He had seen plenty of cruelty in the world. Hell, he had dealt out more than his fair share of it himself. It always brought him sadness, but the worst cruelty brought up a fury in him he so rarely felt. As he watched pain flicker on Charles’ face, Arthur was suddenly thrown back to the sight of two crosses, laid out for ten dollars.

“That’s foul,” he spat.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is,” Charles said. Arthur watched the emotions flicker across Charles’ face. There was anger, and pain, but mostly he just seemed tired. Arthur could tell he didn’t want to talk about this anymore, and he certainly didn’t blame him. There was a reason he hardly ever spoke about Isaac. Arthur offered him a comforting smile - or at least tried to - and pressed his shirt back into his hand.

“Come on,” he said as he got to his feet. “Let’s head back to camp.”

 

With the immediate fury and disgust passed, and the silence of the ride back to camp, Arthur had time to wonder. He wondered if it was just the colour of Charles’ skin that incited such hatred in his attackers. Or if they had seen a male name on his arm. If, maybe, they had seen Arthur’s name. It was such a small hope, and Arthur didn’t dare ask. A large part of him felt guilty about the swirl of anxious hope in his chest, sparked by such a horrific story. He rode beside Charles in their usual, thoughtful silence, his mind a loud mix of hope and fear. It was mid morning by the time they got back to camp, but neither had slept the night before, so they both went their seperate ways to their beds as soon as they arrived. Or at least, Arthur fully intended to he straight to bed. As he got close to his wagon, however, he became very aware of Micah sat in front of Dutch’s tent, watching him like a predator, and his gut clenched.

“The hell do you want?” He spat, to exhausted to even pretend to like the snake.

“Peace, cowpoke!” Micah said, his voice sickly sweet like a preacher’s and it took a lot of Arthur strength to not roll his eyes.

 

He didn’t believe for a second that Colm wanted peace, and believed even less that Dutch would accept it if he did. As much as it would be good to not have to worry about O’Driscolls at their backs - along with every other person gunning for them - Arthur rode towards the meeting with the certainty that it would go horribly wrong. He hated that he was proven right with the butt of a gun cracked against the side of his skull. In the brief moment he came to in the O’Driscoll camp, he had enough sense to try and crawl to some semblance of safety, but his attempt was short lived.

 

He felt strangely calm about the fact he was most likely about to die. He was more worried about the fact that anyone riding to his rescue would be riding straight into a trap. Though he did wonder if anyone would actually bother coming to rescue him. Charles would, a tiny voice in his head hoped, but he shook the thought away. He had to focus. After Colm left, Arthur had noticed the metal file on the desk next to him and was now using whatever strength he had left to swing his way over there. It took him four solid attempts before his fingers finally wrapped around the rough metal, and he hoisted himself upwards to cut through the ropes that suspended him. The bullet hole in his shoulder screamed at him, and he knew he had to stop the bleeding soon or he had no chance of making it back to camp before he bled out. He was damn glad for his pain tolerance as he dug out the bullet and cauterised the wound himself. It was honestly kind of surprising that he didn’t pass out in the process, but he was pretty sure at this stage he was running on sheer adrenaline. But that was all he really needed.

 

It was a desperate and wild run through the camp, and he wasn’t sure if he was actually going to make it until he heard the distinct neigh of Oscar and the thunder of his loyal mount’s hooves. He used the last of his strength to hoist himself up into the saddle and gripped desperately at Oscar’s mane, not even bothering to take up the reins.

“Take me home, boy,” he whispered roughly and he pressed his heels weakly into to Oscar’s flank. It was all the stallion needed, as he kicked into a gallop and Arthur held on as best he could. He was vaguely aware of the trees that flew by, the edges of his vision blurring as he fought desperate to stay conscious. He just needed to make it back to camp. For a second, he thought he saw a large stag, loping along beside him, but when he blinked it was gone.

“Arthur!” A deep voice cut through the heavy haze of pain and blood loss.

“Charles,” Arthur grunted as the last of his strength failed and he hit the ground heavily. There was a moment of blackness, then the sensation of warm, large hands on his shoulder.

“Arthur.” Charles voice was enough to pull him back to some form of consciousness. They were somewhere near Scarlett Meadows, Arthur guessed, tucked in a cluster of trees off the side of the road. Charles was crouched beside him, Oscar and Taima grazing together nearby.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Charles muttered as he helped Arthur into a sitting position. He groaned from the effort, butCharles’ hand was firm against his back and that was enough to keep him upright.

“Colm...” Arthur slurred but Charles shushed him.

“Don’t talk. Let me dress this,” he said, his fingers pressed either side of the wound on his shoulder. Arthur focused on the pressure of those fingers, of the pinch in Charles’ brow as he inspected the wound. He then became aware of the sound of ripping fabric, and a brush of cool air against bare skin. Charles had cut through his union suit, to get better access to the wound. His mind stalled with a panic he didn’t have the awareness to identify, until Charles’ concerned frown fell away into an unreadable expression, and his fingers drifted gently down the line of Arthur’s shoulder blade. Arthur felt his heart stutter as he realised that Charles could see exactly what was written there. There was a heavy silence and a still moment. Then Charles, without saying a word, pulled a bandage from his satchel and wrapped it over the wound. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to look at the other man. He didn’t know if his head was spinning from the blood loss or the terror of Charles knowing the truth. His vision blurred again as a heavy wave of nausea rolled over him, and he tried to slur out Charles’ name. Black clouds filled his head as he slipped out of consciousness once more.

 

The next few days were a heavy, pain induced blur. Somehow, he made it back to camp. For some reason, Charles hadn’t left him to die there after finding his secret. Arthur was vaguely aware of people coming and going, bringing water and medication. His bandages were changed, but only ever by Hosea, who spent most of those days sitting on the edge of Arthur’s cot, reading or watching over him. By the end of the week, Arthur had recovered enough to be up and about around camp, but Hosea rarely let him out of his sight.

 

As well as the pain, the weakness and the dizziness, Arthur was keenly aware of Charles’ absence from the camp over those few weeks he spent recovering. The other man would be out of camp for days at a time, and the time he was back, he was always as far away from Arthur as possible. Arthur didn’t blame him. As much as it broke his heart, he accepted that whatever tiny hope he had felt that maybe Charles might feel the same, it was never to be. As he spent one evening scratching away in his journal, Hosea came and took a seat next to him, passing him a glass ofwhiskey. Arthur took it thankfully.

“He knows,” he muttered quietly, aware of how close everyone was in camp. But he needed to talk to someone, and Hosea was the only person he had. Hosea nodded.

“I figured,” he said, placing a hand on Arthur’s knee. “The bandages were directly over it.” All Arthur could do was sigh. “Have you spoken to him about it?”

“He don’t wanna talk to me,” Arthur grumbled into his whiskey glass. “Surprised he didn’t leave me for dead when he found it.”

“Come now, Arthur,” Hosea said, “Charles ain’t that kinda man.” Arthur let out another disgruntled sigh and stared out over the camp, to where Charles sat at the scout fire, back to Arthur’s wagon and the rest of the camp.

“Maybe not, Hosea,” he conceded. “But he clearly don’t want nothing to do with me.” Hosea patted his knee lightly.

“You just focus on getting better, son,” he said, his voice light and comforting. Arthur became aware of Dutch making his way back to his own tent, well within earshot of Arthur’s wagon. “We’ll figure out the rest.” Hosea got to his feet, taking Arthur’s now empty glass from him, before making his way to his own tent. He gave Dutch a nod as he passed. Arthur had no idea how the hell Hosea managed, if he felt for Dutch like Arthur felt for Charles. How he had watch him love and lose Annabelle, or watched him now twirl Molly along on their strange dance. Arthur felt like he was dying every time Charles rode away from the camp without giving him so much as a glance. If he ever saw him with another... well he didn’t even entertain the thought.

 

_One day I hope I can live with the grace that Hosea lives with. Despite being just as rough as the rest of us, he’s world’s better than the lot of us put together._

 

_Shoulder’s on it’s way to being better. But things ain’t ever gonna be the same now CS knows the truth. I always knew this love’d kill me. I just had hoped for a quicker death than this._

 

***

 

“You’re looking better,” a deep voice spoke behind Arthur. He had been sitting out on the small pier near camp, staring over the lake. He was glad he had his back to Charles when he spoke, because he never wanted to admit to the tears that welled up in his eyes at Charles’ voice. He blinked them away quickly before turning to face Charles. He stood a few feet back, not actually on the pier itself, and just a little to the side of it. _He’s giving me room to get past him,_ Arthur realised.

“I’m feeling better,” Arthur replied, unable to make eye contact. They fell into silence for a moment. It wasn’t the comfortable silence they had grown so used to. This silence was filled with anxiety and so many things unsaid. Finally, Charles took half a step forward.

“Do you feel up to coming hunting with me?” He asked and Arthur’s heart leapt into his throat. He was nodding before he let himself think about it. He had no idea what Charles wanted, and was pretty sure he was just gonna take him somewhere secluded to shoot him, but that would at least be a quicker death than what others might give him. So he followed Charles to where Oscar and Taima were hitched. As they were mounting up, Hosea called out to them.

“We’re going out for a few days,” Charles said when Hosea asked what they were doing. “Going up to Cairn Lake for some hunting.”

“And you’re feeling up to that?” Hosea asked, a hand on Arthur’s knee. The furrow of his brow spoke the words he didn’t dare say in front of Charles. Arthur merely nodded. That clearly was enough to satisfy Hosea, who patted Arthur’s knee before wishing them luck and heading back into camp.

 

It took them two days to make it up to Cairn Lake. They spent most of the ride in silence, the air heavy with tension. As they made it up into the mountain range, Charles gave directions to the cabin he intended them to stay at.

“Met a hunter up here about a week ago,” Charles explained. “His friend had died in a snowstorm, I helped him find the body. He said I was welcome to use his cabin, as he wasn’t going to be using it for a while. Thought it might... give us some privacy.” Arthur had no idea what to say in response. He violently stamped down any bit of hope that rose in his chest, remembering the last few weeks of icy silence and distance. So he merely grunted and followed the path Charles and Taima carved through the fresh snow. Arthur didn’t miss their time up at Colter, but he had to admit that the snow covered countryside was damn beautiful.

 

They arrived at the cabin just as the sun had begun to set. It had been snowing pretty heavily for the last few hours, and Arthur was glad to get out of the wind when they bundled inside. Charles set about getting the fire going, as Arthur took in the surrounds. Charles was right that the place was private. They hadn’t seen anyone on the road in hours, and the cabin itself was tucked out of the way. Arthur rubbed his hands together, partially to warm them, partially out of anxiety. The fire sputtered to life from Charles’ prodding, and they both sat before it in silence, letting it seep some warmth back into them.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Charles finally muttered quietly. “But, we can. If you want.”

Arthur glanced over to him. There was a gentle, sincerity on Charles’ face, lit by the warm glow of the fire. In that moment, Arthur could see through all the years of hardship and fear, could see the kindness that ran through Charles’ very soul spread across his features, like a sunrise over the countryside. _He looks like home,_ Arthur thought, his throat clenched tight with fear and love.

“Dunno what there is to say,” he managed to whisper, unable to take his eyes off Charles. He then shook his head, and patted Charles’ knee. “You don’t gotta pretend for me, Charles. It’s fine. No point trying to make something where there’s nothin’.” Charles’ brow furrowed and he shifted so he was facing Arthur more than he was facing the fire. Gently, deliberately, he wrapped his hands around the hand Arthur had laid on his knee and Arthur thought that his heart was going to pound it’s way right out of his rib cage. For a moment, they both stared down at where their hands were twisted together, Charles’ thumb running slow circles over Arthur’s knuckles.

“I’m not pretending,” Charles said quietly.

“You wanted nothing to do with me the past few weeks,” he said, a little more angry than he intended. Charles sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he said, still looking down at their hands. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “Seeing you like that, half dead... I had never felt such fear. The thought that I might lose you, I couldn’t bear it. I panicked and I ran. And you suffered for it.”

Arthur couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Charles...” he whispered, but he had no idea what else to say. Gently, Charles lifted his hand and ran Arthur’s fingers over his shoulder. Arthur could feel the ridges of the scar through the linen of Charles’ shirt.

“I should have told you, that night after the stage,” Charles muttered. “It was you, Arthur. It was your name they took from me.”

Arthur moved without thought and caught Charles’ lips against his own. Ever alert, ever brilliant Charles moved in perfect time with him. The kiss was deep, and surprisingly gentle. Charles’ hand had moved to cup Arthur’s cheek, his palm warm against his still snow bitten skin. Arthur had shifted forward to the point where he was practically sitting in Charles lap, one arm wrapped around the other man’s waist. He pulled back ever so slightly to catch his breath, forehead still pressed against Charles’.

“I’m a damn fool,” he muttered with a fond chuckle. “Thought you was bringing me up here to shoot me.” Charles’ hand slid back so his fingers tangled into Arthur’s hair.

“You are a damn fool,” Charles said with a fondness and a warmth that soaked into Arthur even quicker than the heat of the fire. Within the next breath they were kissing again, deeper and more desperate than before. Hands, and skin, and heat filled Arthur’s thoughts and senses. His whole word was filled with Charles. And for the first time in years, he felt like he was right where he should be. For the first time in years, he felt safe.

 

They eventually made it to the small bed in the next room of the cabin, and that’s where they woke at sunrise, a tangle of limbs and sheets. Arthur was surprised when he woke and Charles was still there, face smooth with worry-free sleep. He had been convinced the whole thing had been a fever dream and he would wake up in his cot at Clemens Point, Charles’ still avoiding him like the plague. But the weight of Charles’ arm slung around his waist and the warmth of his breath against his neck was so damn real. All Arthur could do was stare for the few moments it took Charles’ to stir as well. Arthur watched as his dark eyes blinked open, and a small, relaxed smile touched the corner’s of his mouth at the sight of Arthur looking over to him.

“Morning,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. Arthur felt warmth spread across his chest at the gentleness of the moment.

“Morning,” he whispered back, and somehow found the confidence to lean forward a little to press a soft kiss against Charles’ lips. While Arthur was sure he would have been content to spend the rest of his life lying there in Charles’ arms, the deep rumble of his stomach signalled that his body had other plans. Charles chuckled against his lips and Arthur rolled out of the bed with a groan and set about getting breakfast going.

 

“So there is actually some good hunting up here and round Lake Isabella,” Charles said later when they were sat down at the table over breakfast.

“Here I was thinking that you’d just brought me up here to have your way with me,” Arthur said with a chuckle.

“You said you thought I was gonna shoot you,” Charles retorted.

“Yeah, you got me there,” he laughed.

“Anyway, if we’re lucky, there’s supposedly some moose up here,” Charles said.

“Hang on, Lake Isabella...” Arthur muttered as he dug through his satchel. “Here!” He said triumphantly and produced the map Hosea had given him of the locations of some really big animals. He laid it out on the table and prodded it with his index finger. Charles leaned forward and looked the map over.

“‘Ccording to this, there’s s’pose to big some big ass bison up here too,” Arthur said and Charles nodded thoughtfully.

“Definitely worth a look then,” he said a flashed Arthur a grin. Arthur’s heart fluttered slightly at the casual nature of the gesture, not sure if he had ever seen Charles smile so lightly and freely.

 

After breakfast, they rode out toward Lake Isabella, a comfortable silence between them once again. It didn’t take them long to pick up a trail, but Charles said it was more likely an elk than a moose. They dismounted, Arthur pulling his rifle from Oscar’s saddle and passing it off to Charles. Charles’ gave him a slightly confused look. Arthur tapped his shoulder.

“Don’t wanna risk the kickback,” he said, and Charles hummed thoughtfully before slinging the rifle over his shoulder.

“Come on then,” Charles said quietly, dipping into a crouch and moving silently through the snow. As Arthur followed behind, he watched the careful, perfect movements Charles made. Watched how his body moved so effortlessly through knee deep snow, following the tracks with ease. Arthur was in utter awe of the man. They slipped through the snow toward a small clump of pines, before Charles raised a hand to stop him and pointed into the trees.

“There,” he breathed, and Arthur saw exactly what he was pointing at. A massive moose stood just within the tree line. Arthur had never seen one in the wild before. The antlers alone had to be about the size of a grown man. His heart thumped in his chest as Charles drew the rifle and lined up the shot. A single, clear crack rang out over the mountainside, and the bull gave one mournful cry before collapsing.

“Damn,” Arthur whistled as they made their way over to the carcass. It had been a clean kill, the bullet hitting it right in the eye.

“You cut off the antlers, I’ll skin it,” Charles said and Arthur nodded, pulling out his knife. It took a bit of wrangling for them to wrap the antlers up in the pelt so that Taima would be able to carry it, but they managed eventually. Arthur then set about carving up as much meat as possible while Charles loaded up Taima.

“Pearson’s gonna have a conniption when he sees this,” Arthur laughed as he carefully wrapped the meat for storage. Charles gave a nod and a fond chuckle, before swinging back up into Taima’s saddle.

“Wanna go after that bison?” He asked and Arthur answered with a nod and whistled for Oscar.

 

They picked up the trail of the bison pretty quick, and tracked it half way across the perimeter of Lake Isabella, before it came into view. It was a massive, gorgeous beast with a thick white coat. It took Charles three shots to down the thing, and it took both of them to skin it cleanly. As they were hoisting the pelt up onto Oscar’s rump, Charles lightly touched Arthur’s shoulder and pointed to a nearby hill.

“Look at that,” he whispered. It took Arthur a moment to see what he was pointing at, but he let out a low whistle when he did. Poised on the edge of the hill, nuzzling at some grass that was just poking through a layer of snow, was a stunning white Arabian.

“She’s a beauty,” Arthur muttered. “Damn.”

“You ever caught a wild horse before?” Charles asked. Arthur shook his head.

“Ah I don’t need another horse, Oscar does me just fine,” he said.

“There’s nothing wrong with having two horses, and if you don’t want her, you can always just sell her. She’s probably a run away. Arabians are desert horses, she won’t do well up here in the snow,” Charles said. There was an excitement in his eyes and Arthur could tell he really wanted to catch this horse. “Come on, I’ll tell you what to do.” In the end, there was no way Arthur was gonna say no to Charles.

 

“Easy there, girl,” he said, taking a few more tentative steps toward the mare. She had spotted them quickly when they had begun to approach, but seemed curious enough when Charles had whistled to her. She pawed at the ground and snorted, but stayed rooted in place.

“That’s it, nice and slow,” Charles muttered under his breath, just at Arthur’s side. They took a few more steps forward and the mare startled slightly.

“It’s okay, girl,” Arthur murmured, waiting for her to calm again. They were only a few feet away now. This close up, Arthur could see what Charles meant about her not doing well on the mountains. She was thin, but he could see the potential for a stunning mount. Might even put the Count to shame.

“When she lets you close enough,” Charles instructed quietly, “just loop your lasso on her and mount up. Likely she’s already broken, but she’s probably gonna have a few bucks in there for you.”

“You sure you don’t wanna do this?” Arthur asked.

“You’ll do fine,” was all Charles said in response. Arthur was pretty sure Charles just wanted to watch Arthur get thrown from the tiny mare. Get in a good laugh at his expense.

“If you say so,” he said before taking another slow step forward. “Easy, easy.” The mare snorted again but this time Arthur was close enough to gently lay a hand against her neck. She flinched slightly at the touch, but stood steady. Slowly, Arthur pulled his lasso from his hip, then in one smooth motion looped it round her nose and hoisted himself onto her back.

 

She put up a valiant fight, but Arthur had been riding horses a long time now, and Charles seemed to be right about the mare already being broken, cause it didn’t take long for her to work the bucks out and settle in place. He turned her back to face Charles and threw him a thumbs up, then trotted the mare over to him.

“Well done, Arthur,” Charles said when they got there. Arthur swung down from the mare’s back and whistled for Oscar. He tugged lightly at the stallion’s girth to free it before pulling the saddle off his back and laying it onto the Arabian. As he was fixing up the straps, Charles helped him by adjusting Oscar’s bridle so it would actually fit around the mare’s much smaller head.

“Got any ideas for a name for her?” Charles asked. Arthur shrugged.

“Oh, I’m pretty terrible at names. Couldn’t even help naming my own damn son.” The words had slipped out before he had even realised what he was saying. He felt pain well into his throat at the mention of Isaac, and couldn’t even bring himself to look up at Charles.

“It’s alright, Arthur. It’s none of my business,” Charles said quietly, laying a hand gently on his shoulder.

“No, it’s fine... I just...” He swallowed thickly. “It’s hard to... to talk about it. Never been good at words.” Charles stepped closer to him now, lifting a hand to rub his thumb along Arthur’s cheekbone. He sighed and leaned into the touch a little.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Charles muttered. “But I’m more than willing to listen, if you do want to.” He pressed a kiss gently to Arthur’s temple, breath and lips warm against Arthur’s skin. Arthur sighed quietly.

“Was a long time ago. She was a waitress, and we were both young and reckless. She knew who I was, knew what my life was like. When she got pregnant, I... I tried my best to do right by her and the kid,” he explained.

“What were their names?”

“Eliza and Isaac.”

“What happened?”

“I rode into to check on them one day and there were two crosses outside,” he said quietly. Charles sighed sadly and pressed another kiss to Arthur’s temple, one hand running comforting circles between his shoulder blades. “Some bastard robbed ‘em. Obviously didn’t know they had ten dollars to their name.”

“That’s a terrible shame,” Charles said quietly and Arthur nodded.

“Yeah. Don’t need to tell you how cruel the world can be,” he said. Charles gave him a slightly strained smile, then leaned in to kiss him once more. This time Arthur tilted his head up and caught the kiss on his lips, wrapping an arm around Charles’ waist.

“Well, well, well...” came a thick drawl behind them. Arthur spun quickly to face the voice, hand already pulling the gun from his holster. He heard Charles do the same behind him.

“Easy there, cowpoke,” Micah mockingly raised his hands as he strode towards them, cocksure and ugly as ever. “Dutch sent me up here to find you two. We got work to do.”

 

Arthur had been in plenty of tense situations before. His life had been on the line time and time again. But the ride back to Clemens Point with Micah and Charles made him feel more in danger than he had ever felt before. Micah was uncharacteristically silent, except for an odd light cough here and there. He rode point, with Arthur behind him on the Arabian, riding next to Charles. Oscar loped along behind them, the bison pelt strapped to his back as he followed Arthur obediently. Arthur and Charles kept glancing at each other cautiously. There was no way Micah hadn’t seen them kiss, and the fact that he wasn’t saying anything about it just made them all the more suspicious. Arthur just had to hope that Micah wasn’t stupid enough to try anything yet. As much as he didn’t trust the snake, he knew that he was desperate to get on Dutch’s good side. And maybe Arthur wasn’t Dutch’s favourite anymore, he was still close to it, and Micah wouldn’t earn any favours from Dutch by having one of his best men strung up as a homosexual. So they rode in tense silence, pushing on through the night until they rode back into camp early the next day. Sean was out on guard duty and gave them a friendly salute as they passed, but his face fell quickly at the look of tension on their faces.

“Marston!” Micah yelled as he skidded Baylock to a halt at the edge of camp. John looked up from the fire with a furrowed brow, but strode over to them. “Help these fine men bring their catch to Pearson, won’t you?” Micah drawled before striding off toward Dutch’s tent. John shot his back a glare but moved to help Arthur and Charles unload.

“The hell is his issue?” He asked. Charles just grunted and Arthur shook his head.

“We could have trouble,” he said darkly, watching Micah and Dutch converse by his tent, just out of earshot.

“Trouble?” John asked.

“Maybe. Dunno yet,” Arthur said, hitching up the new Arabian and helping Charles lift the bison pelt down from Oscar’s back. John hoisted the moose pelt over his shoulder and the three of them made their way over to Pearson’s wagon to deliver the pelts and meat. As they finished handing it of, Dutch strode over to them and Arthur’s gut swirled with anxiety.

“Sorry to cut your trip short boys, but it looked like you were successful enough anyway,” he said as he gestured to the meat Pearson was now carving up at the back of his wagon.

“What’s going on, Dutch?” Arthur asked.

“Things are progressing, son. Those Gray’s and Braithwaite’s. We are onto something. And I need my best men here, ready,” Dutch said, conspiratorially. Arthur used to love when Dutch would speak like that, all dreams and plans. These days, it just made him suspicious.

“Well,” he said. “We’re here now.”

 

It turned out Dutch didn’t have any immediate plans, just wanted everyone in camp just in case. Arthur wanted to hit something. Micah, mostly. He scratched a few notes in his journal, lost miserably at dominos to Tilly, and tried to pretend like nothing was wrong for the rest of the day. Hosea came up to him at one point when he was out smoking by the lake.

“Everything alright then, Arthur?” He asked. Arthur let out a bitter laugh, dropped the last of his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.

“It was for a bit there,” he muttered. “Charles and I talked and... well...” Hosea glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. Arthur ducked his head so the brim of his hat covered the blush that had spread to his cheeks.

“You don’t seem as happy as I thought you would be,” Hosea noted and Arthur let out a heavy sigh.

“When Micah came to find us, he uh...” He shook his head bitterly. “He had same damn fine timing.” Hosea obviously got what Arthur was implying.

“I’ll deal with him,” Hosea said, but Arthur shook his head.

“He ain’t done anything yet,” he said, placing a hand on Hosea’s shoulder to stop him. “No point pissing Dutch off by messing with him until we know what he’s up to.”

“Alright,” Hosea conceded. “But at the first sign of trouble I’m putting a bullet in him.” Arthur let out a fond chuckle.

“I know. Thanks.”

 

That night, as they all sat down at the fire with Pearson’s best stew yet, the energy of the camp was surprisingly light. Arthur had decided it was worth the risk of sitting down next to Charles on the log, as Sean was regaling the tale of how he and Mary-Beth had hit some stagecoach the other day. Arthur was only half listening, mostly listening to the warm sound of Charles’ chuckles next to him, and the gentle pressure of where their knees were lightly pressed together, under the pretence of making room for where Uncle was lounging on the log to Charles’ other side. Dutch had deigned to join them that evening, and him and Hosea were sat next to where Javier was laid out on the floor with his guitar, plucking away a light melody. It was in these quiet moments that Arthur remembered the kind of home the camp had always been for him. Even with all the madness of the last few months, and the looming threat of Micah over his head, he still couldn’t help but feel a small amount of content. The moment was quickly shattered then, as Micah sauntered over to the group with a dark chuckle.

“Well just look at these two homos, snuggled up at the fire,” he spat, waving his hand at Arthur and Charles. Arthur felt his heart stop for a moment as silence fell over the group. Silence, and the small chuckle Dutch let out. Arthur focused very hard on gripping his -thankfully empty - stew bowl as he tried to stop his hands from shaking. He watched, stunned and devastated as Dutch smiled fondly at Micah. Charles was still as a rock next to him. Hosea looked like he was about torip Micah’s throat out with his bare hands.

“Seriously, Dutch, I don’t know why you’re even letting them stay,” Micah said as he came to stand alongside Dutch, who looked up at him with a slightly disapproving look.

“Come now, Micah. Some jokes are just a bit far,” he said.

“I ain’t joking, Dutch.” There was another still, silent moment as Dutch regarded Micah, his brow furrowing slowly. Micah just raised his eyebrows back at him, expectantly.

The tension snapped like a whip crack. Dutch was on his feet, gun pressed against Micah’s chest. Hosea had stood as well, hand on his holster but clearly letting Dutch take the lead. Arthur’s heart leapt into his throat.

“You better watch your mouth when you’re talking ‘bout my son, boy,” Dutch snarled at Micah, and Arthur was pretty sure he saw genuine fear flash across Micah’s face in that moment. He composed himself quickly.

“I saw them, Dutch,” he said, waving a hand at where Arthur and Charles were sitting. “Kissin’ up in the mountains.”

“What of it?” Dutch hissed, and Micah’s face fell slightly as he realised that his accusations were falling on uncaring ears.

“I think it’s best you get yourself to bed, Micah,” Hosea stated icily from behind Dutch. “Before you make a bigger fool of yourself.”

Arthur was honestly a little surprised when Micah genuinely backed down, and slinked off to his tent with his tail between his legs. Dutch kept his gun in his hand the whole time. There was still a thick tension in the air, and Arthur didn’t dare risk looking around. They had the attention of everyone in camp now, and it was certainly the last thing he wanted. Dutch looked over to him.

“Mr Morgan, Mr Smith, a word?” He said, taking a few steps away from the fire. Arthur could have sworn he had flashed them a wink before he looked away.

“Come on, Arthur,” Charles muttered as he got to his feet, Arthur following suit. As they stood next to Dutch, it was very clear that they were still well within earshot of the others round the fire.

“You boys best get yourselves to bed, too,” Dutch said calmly, patting Arthur lightly on the shoulder. “And if anyone else gives you any trouble, you have my permission to shoot them.” Dutch delivered his line and turned lightly on his heel, before dropping himself calmly back into his seat by the fire. Hosea shot Arthur a bemused look, before making his way back to his seat too. Finally, Arthur glanced up at Charles. The other man had the tiniest smile at the edge of his lips, and was shaking his head. Arthur couldn’t help but smile a little too, still a bit in shock. He reached out and placed a hand gently on Charles’ shoulder.

“Night, then,” he said, and turned towards his wagon. He was halted however, by a strong hand on his shoulder. In a single, smooth motion, Charles turned Arthur back to face him, took a step forward and pressed his lips against his. Arthur startled slightly, but quickly softened under Charles’ touch.

“Night,” Charles muttered against his lips and Arthur thought he was going to legitimately swoon. The moment was broken, thankfully, by a scrunched up ball of paper smacking against Arthur’s temple.

“He said go to bed!” John yelled from where he was sitting just outside his tent. Arthur chuckled, kissed Charles once more for good measure, and made his way over to his wagon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know ‘homos’ is not the kind of word Micah would actually use in that situation, just use it as a placeholder for whatever horrific slur you think he would say. I’m not writing that out.
> 
> Also apparently there aren’t bull moose at Lake Isabella??? I dunno, I figured I’m diverging from canon enough you can forgive the discrepancy ;)


	3. Work To Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok just quickly I’ve switched around the order of a few of the quests here cause I wanted to. Basically I just pushed the O’Driscoll kidnapping quest forward a bunch. Should be pretty easy to follow where we’re up to though.
> 
> This is probably the last chapter to be mostly canon compliant, things are gonna start going buck wild soon. Enjoy!

When Arthur woke the next morning, the first rays of sun barely touching the sky yet, he took the tiniest indulgence and rolled over with the intent to fall back asleep. The night before still felt like a strange blur. He had to admit, it scared him the smallest bit, that everyone in the camp now knew about him and Charles. But the sight of Dutch and Hosea staring down Micah, guns drawn at the smallest comment was burned into his mind. Dutch had called him son, not in the pleading, condescending tone he had taken to recently, but in a fierce and protective way like he used to when Arthur was young and kept getting into trouble he couldn’t quite get himself out of. As Arthur lay there, mulling over everything, he heard voices coming from near Dutch’s tent.

“Check in with Strauss when he wakes up, see what he’s got for you,” Dutch said calmly, in that disinterested tone that he takes up when he’s reading.

“I thought you said you needed your best men here?” Micah’s drawl was distinctive and made Arthur’s skin crawl. There was a pause, and Arthur could just imagine the look on Dutch’s face.

“I did.” Arthur had to hold in a snort of laughter, before giving up on his attempted sleep in and rolling out of his cot to set about some morning chores.

 

Micah was out of camp before midday. Arthur was pretty sure he heard Strauss mention Strawberry, and he was damn glad for the thought of Micah being gone for the few days it would take him to get to Strawberry and back. With Micah out of camp, Arthur felt like he could breathe a little easier. He had chopped firewood and carried hay bales over to the horses before giving Oscar a good, long brush, slipping him a few peppermints. He felt a nuzzling at the back of his neck, and turned to see Taima, lipping at the collar of his shirt.

“Oh, did you want something, girl?” He chuckled and scratched under her chin, before holding out a peppermint for her to take.

“I saw that,” Charles berated from where he was leaning against a tree, fletching arrows. Arthur couldn’t help but blush a little. He gave Taima a pat on the neck before he walked over to Charles.

“How’re you feeling?” He muttered as he leant against the tree next to him, pulling out a cigarette. Charles gave him a small smile, the corners of his lips just barely twitching upwards. Arthur loved those tiny expressions, the way Charles’ face would shift so minutely, but so precisely.

“Glad Micah’s outta camp,” he said in his deep, rumbling tone. Arthur hummed his agreement, taking a long drag from his cigarette. They stood there together, as Arthur finished his smoke and Charles finished fletching his arrows.

“You want some of these?” Charles asked as Arthur stomped out the butt of his cigarette.

“Thanks,” Arthur said, taking the arrows Charles offered him. As he took them, the tips of their fingers brushed together, and it was like a zap of electricity sparked between them. He looked up, locking eyes with Charles. The moment held, as their fingers twisted together and Arthur watched a smile spread over Charles’ face. It occurred to Arthur that he could just lean over and kiss him. They didn’t need to hide, Arthur knew that Charles felt the same as he did. And yet, he hesitated. Decades of hiding and fearing, months of longing, and all the walls that time had built around Arthur’s heart. And he remembered so clearly Micah’s snarling grin when he had found them on the mountains. He knew that Hosea and Dutch had his back, but there were so many ways Micah could still hurt them. Hurt Charles. And Charles had already been so hurt by this. Arthur’s name had been like a brand on his skin, a skin that was already so hated by the world. The agony Charles must have gone through when those monsters had desecrated the holy place that was Charles’ body. His jaw clenched and he went to take a step back. But Charles was having none of it. He wrapped his strong hand around Arthur’s and gripped tight.

“Hey,” he said quietly. His voice was low and gentle and loving. “We’re alright.” And for the tiniest moment, Arthur believed it. Charles gave him an understanding smile, and raised their entwined fingers to his lips, laying soft kisses across each of Arthur’s scuffed up knuckles. Arthur felt a light blush creep across his cheeks and warm the tips of his ears. He ducked his head, bashfully, before Charles finally released him and they parted, each to their own business.

 

A little later in the day, Arthur was sitting at the poker table alone, sketching away in his journal. They had recently managed to gathered enough money together to justify buying a coop for the chickens, and Arthur was scribbling down the scene of Abigail, half bent over as she fed the chickens just outside the coop. A clearing of a throat caught his attention and he glanced up to see Dutch saunter past, waving for Arthur to join him. Arthur flipped the leather cover of his journal closed, tucking it and his charcoal pencil away in his satchel as he got to his feet and followed Dutch down towards the river. They came to a stop at the waterline, and for a moment the two of them stood in careful silence, looking out over the water. Arthur, ever aware of his surroundings, realised that they were completely alone on this side of the camp. John was just near the tree line, standing guard. Everyone else was further in camp, and Arthur realised John’s eyes were turning inward just as often as they were turning out. Dutch had clearly arranged for them to have some privacy. If he were any other kind of man, Arthur might have felt nervous. Or at least, he might have admitted the nervous energy that shimmered across his skin. He never knew what to think or say around Dutch these days. Even after the events of the night before, there was still a low tension between them that had begun boiling in Blackwater. Dutch let out a low hum, and shifted his weight slightly, before nodding his head to the log just to their left. They took a seat, still in the tense silence. Arthur could tell Dutch had something to say, and it was so rare that Dutch was so hesitant to speak his mind. Finally, he gave a sigh and leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and glancing over to Arthur.

“Things have been a lot harder for you than you’ve let on, haven’t they son?” He said quietly. There was a softness in his face that Arthur hadn’t seen for a very long time. Arthur signed quietly in response, running a hand over the stubble that was starting to get just a little too long on his chin.

“I’ve told you my thoughts on Micah, many a time,” he managed to grumble. He tried his best not to act the petulant child, to stop his feet and shout I told you so! He could see that right now, for the first time in a long time, Dutch was ready to listen. As much as Arthur wanted to snap and tell him all the things he had done wrong recently, he held back. Snapping would just piss Dutch off and cause his to shut down. And a large part of Arthur worried this was the only chance he was going to get to actually get through to Dutch.

“That you did,” Dutch said, his tone slow and careful. “Guess he just never showed to me the side of him that you saw. Never gave me reasons to doubt him.”

“Blackwater wasn’t reason enough?” Arthur tried to keep the venom out of his voice. Dutch waved a hand, somewhat dismissively.

“Jobs go wrong, Arthur, you know that,” he said, but it didn’t have the same fire that had been behind those justifications for the last few weeks. Arthur sighed.

“You didn’t see him in Strawberry, Dutch. Killing those folk? He loved every second of it.” Dutch almost said something in response, but Arthur kept talking. “It wasn’t just that rush of adrenaline that keeps you goin’ in a firefight. He wasn’t shooting to defend hisself. He was shooting for the cruel sake of it. Shooting for fun. Killin’ folk that didn’t need killin’.” Arthur found himself staring at his hands, like he could still see the sheen of sweat, blood and gunpowder that had covered them during that massacre. His gut churned over sickly as he thought of the body count that Micah had forced them to leave behind. He glanced back up at Dutch, and was surprised to see the older man watching him carefully, genuinely and openly listening.

“And last night,” Arthur huffed. “Look he can say whatever the hell he wants about me. I don’t care at this point. But Charles...” His breath caught in his throat. Without words, he twisted away from Dutch a little. As he did so, he pulled lightly at the collar of his shirt, top buttons already undone just a little too low to stave off the heat. He shifted the shirt aside enough that he felt his shoulder blade exposed. There was silence as Dutch read the words there. Slowly, deliberately, he felt Dutch pull the collar back up onto his shoulder. Arthur twisted back again, facing Dutch fully this time.

“Oh, Arthur,” Dutch said quietly, one hand still on Arthur’s back, thumb running slow lines up and down the length of Charles’ name. Dutch’s face was more open and sincere than Arthur had ever seen it. “I had figured it, after what Micah said last night.”  
Another moment of quiet fell over the two men. Arthur leaned a little against Dutch’s hand, finding comfort in the gentle touch of a man who had truly been a father to him. He felt some tension drain slowly from his chest and shoulders, like a coil slowly being unwound. He hadn’t realised just how much the strain between him and Dutch had cut into him, how much he had missed the man Dutch had been. They were both stoic men, in their own ways, but Dutch had always been free with his affection. Hugs, shoulders pats, even the odd ruffling of hair had all been given without hesitation, to him and John both. Over the last few months those had faded, and Arthur had just accepted it as another part of Dutch that had been lost to Micah’s poison. But now, as he felt a weariness wash over him, Dutch’s hand shifted and wrapped fully around his shoulder, pulling him into his chest. In that moment, Arthur felt unashamed of the tears he felt slip down over his cheeks, his face tucked into the crook of Dutch’s shoulder. The position was a little awkward, neither of them were small men and they were perched somewhat precariously on the log, but the gesture alone was comforting enough and a sign that maybe, somehow, things might just be okay.

“Come now, son,” Dutch said as they separated. “We’ve work to do.”

 

Dutch ended up sending him and Charles out to find out what Trelawny knew about the bounty hunters he had mentioned a while ago. Arthur was pretty sure that Dutch was just giving the two of them a chance to get out of camp for a bit, but of course things went south quickly. Arthur knew how suddenly things could go wrong in the middle of a fight, and had been reminded of that with a lasso around his neck.

“You should have taken the money,” he coughed after Charles shot the man clean between the eyes.

“I know,” Charles murmured, picking up Arthur’s hat from where it had been thrown to the ground. “I’m a fool.” He pressed a quick kiss against Arthur’s lips as he placed the hat back on his head. Arthur felt the blush warm his cheeks, but the moment was quickly shattered by the sound of gunfire. It didn’t take long for them to clear out the barn of the last of the bounty hunter and make their way back up to Trelawny. Arthur could feel Charles’ worried eyes on him, and self consciously turned up his collar, covering the angry red ring of rope burn around his neck. The scratch of the fabric against the raw skin was painful, but somehow grounding at the same time. He tried very hard not to think about how close he had been to being killed. He focused instead on helping Trelawny over to his horse. After he hoisted the man up into the saddle, he gave his knee a gentle pat.

“I think it’s best I stay with you gents for a while,” Trelawny said, and Arthur hummed in agreement.

“Charles, why don’t you escort Josiah back to camp?” He asked. Charles glanced over at him from where he had just swung up into Taima’s saddle.

“You coming with?” His tone was casual, but there was a worried set to his brow. Arthur sighed and shrugged before swinging up into his saddle and giving his horse a pat on the shoulder.

“Sure, why not?” He said, and the three of them turned their horses back towards camp.

 

They rode mostly in silence, which told Arthur that Trelawny really had been beat up pretty bad back there. Every now and then Arthur glanced over his shoulder just to make sure Trelawny hadn’t disappeared in a puff of mist or something. He and Charles rode next to each other, Arthur’s new Arabian easily keeping pace with Taima’s long legged lope. He felt a little overly large on her, especially compared to Oscar who was big even for a Standardbred, but she had a lot of energy to her and was quick to respond to Arthur’s commands. He was still aware of Charles glancing over at him constantly, and try as he might to put it out of his mind, it was starting to irritate him. They were just outside Rhodes when he snapped.

“I’m fine, Charles, quit your worrying,” he grumbled when Charles looked over next.

“You almost died.” Arthur felt his chest tighten at Charles’ tone. He sounded genuinely frightened and it hit Arthur like a gut punch, dissolving all his anger instantly. He looked over at Charles with an apologetic smile.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I am okay though.” Charles’ brow was still creased with worry, but he nodded.

“Okay. I’ll make up a salve when we get back to camp though, should help with the burn.” With that, the matter was settled. Arthur glanced back once more to check on Trelawny and caught the little, knowing smirk that flashed across the other man’s face. Arthur couldn’t help but blush a little, quickly turning his attention back to the road.

 

It was getting late by the time they got back into camp, which was it’s usual evening buzz of activity. Lenny had shouted them a fond greeting as they rode past the spot where he stood on guard. The warm rays of sunset bounced off the ripples in Flat Iron Lake, casting everything in an orange and pink glow. After their horses were hitched, and Kieran had happily offered to untack them and brush them down, they made their way into the camp. Charles stopped by his tent to pick up the supplies he needed for the salve and Arthur walked with Trelawny to Dutch’s tent, where the gramophone had just crackled to life. Arthur was pretty sure he hadn’t heard Dutch put on his music the entire time they had been at Clemens Point. It was nice, in the way it washed over the camp. Made it feel a little more homely.

“Mister van der Linde,” Josiah called out as they approached, and Dutch turned to face them with a smile.

“Ah, gentlemen,” he said. “So you’ve returned in one piece.”

“Well, mostly,” Trelawny replied with a slightly sheepish chuckle. Arthur subconsciously shifted his collar a little, which only served to draw Dutch’s attention straight to the angry red mark around his neck. Dutch’s brow furrowed a little, but he could either tell Arthur didn’t want to talk about it, or he didn’t care to ask. Either way, Arthur was happy when Dutch’s attention returned to Trelawny.

“You look like you could use a drink, Mr Trelawny. Come, tell me about these bounty hunters,” he said, ushering Trelawny into his tent and giving Arthur a small nod that told him he was free to go. He turned back to face the camp and quickly spotted where Charles was sat, at a table with Hosea. He made his way over, mentally preparing himself for Hosea inevitably being overly worried about him.

“Arthur, just in time,” Charles said as he arrived at the table, pressing a kiss against Charles’ temple. He sat next him, and self consciously folded his hands into his lap as Charles gently unbuttoned his shirt a little more to get access to his neck. He felt Hosea’s gaze inspecting the wound as Charles delicately rubbed the salve against the sensitive skin. He flinched a little at the first touch, but the salve started to cool his skin almost instantly. He closed his eyes and let Charles work in the salve.

“Better?” Charles murmured against his ear. Arthur felt the small blush creep across his cheeks.

“Much,” he said with a small smile. He caught movement out the corner of his eye and glanced over to where Hosea was leaning back in his chair.

“You two are going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?” Hosea grumbled, but the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips gave away his true thoughts on the matter. Both Charles and Arthur gave a noncommittal grunt in response. Hosea chuckled fondly, rolling his eyes a little and folding up the newspaper he had been reading. Arthur felt Charles’ hand settle against his lower back, the gesture somehow both gentle and possessive.

“You know, Charles,” Hosea said as he placed the newspaper down on the table. “I believe you’re quite aware of how much I care for all of you in this gang. All of you are important to me. But Arthur, see, Arthur is my son.” Hosea was leaning his elbows on the table, a small smile on his face but his eyes were sharp and serious, staring Charles down like they were about to duel. Arthur shifted a little in his seat, feeling extremely self conscious. Charles’ hand was still settled against his back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against his spine. He glanced over at Charles, who was looking back at Hosea and nodding with his usual calm expression.

“Of course,” Charles said. Hosea hummed quietly, nodded once, and got to his feet. He turned to leave but paused. He placed a hand on the table and looked back to Charles.

“I trust you to understand the lengths I will go to for Arthur’s sake,” Hosea said, his voice quiet and sharp. Arthur wanted to be anywhere else in that moment, but also couldn’t help the small swell of joy in his chest. He knew how much Hosea loved him, he had always been open about it. But it still surprised Arthur every time it came up. He saw the corner of Charles’ mouth turn up the tiniest amount as he nodded his understanding to Hosea, who tapped the table before turning and walking away. Arthur let out a small sigh of relief.

“Well that was awkward as hell,” he grumbled and Charles gave a low chuckle.

“You should get some rest,” Charles said. Arthur nodded.

“Been a hell of a day,” he said, getting to his feet. Charles pressed the tin of salve into his palm.

“Put some more of that on in the morning.”

 

Arthur was hauling hay bales to the horses the next morning when he heard Bill call out to someone riding in to camp.

“It’s Micah!”

“The hell did you get yourself into?” Bill said, and Arthur couldn’t help but look up at that. Micah was swinging down out of Baylock’s saddle, grunting in pain. As he flung his reins over the hitching post, Arthur got a clear view of the massive claw marks running across his shoulder.

“Damn debtor had me hunting some crazy fucking hellcat,” Micah snarled at Bill. Arthur held in a chuckle as he quickly turned on his heel and headed back into camp before Micah could notice him. He tapped Charles’ shoulder as he walked past where he was stoking the fire.

“Micah’s back,” he muttered, and Charles grunted his acknowledgement. Arthur gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before heading over to chop some firewood. He wondered if it would be childish to imagine the logs as Micah’s head. He came to the conclusion that maybe it was, but he was going to do it anyway. After working out a little of his frustration on the logs, he made his way back over to the fire. Charles had headed off to relieve Bill from guard duty, so Arthur was left alone at the fire. Arthur had overheard a little of the grovelling that Micah was performing over in Dutch’s tent when he had finished chopping the wood. He took the quiet time he had now to pull out his journal, jotting down the events of the previous day. As he lost himself in the familiar scratch of his pencil against paper, he found himself sketching out Hosea staring down Charles across the table. He didn’t notice someone approaching the fire until they were standing directly across from him. Arthur glanced up and offered Trelawny a smile, as the other man sat himself down on one of the chairs across from Arthur.

“So,” he said with a sly grin. “You and Mr Smith?”

“You got something to say ‘bout it?” He snapped back, a little surprised by his own anger. Trelawny raised his hands in a defensive manner.

“Oh, no, dear boy, of course not,” he said with a chuckle. “You certainly don’t need to worry about any judgement from me. Besides, I’ve known you’ve been interested in men since the first time we met. I saw how you were looking at me.” He gave Arthur a wink.

“What? I... no. That’s— I wasn’t—“ Arthur blustered and Trelawny laughed.

“Don’t worry, dear boy, I get it all the time,” he chuckled. Arthur scratched at his beard awkwardly. He was rescued from the awkward situation by Dutch’s booming summons.

 

“Arthur, my boy!” He called with a wave, and Arthur obeyed, moving to Dutch’s tent. Dutch had also waved over Hosea, which told Arthur they were about to do some planning. He felt a tension pull between his shoulder blades, a mix of eagerness to be working and concern for their current situation. The three of them sat down around the dominoes table, Dutch leaning forward on his elbows with a spark of something in his eyes. Over the last few months, Arthur had begun to dread that look of glee and mischief, but this time, he tried to let himself get swept along, just a little bit.

“Alright, boys, what’re we doing bout these two families?” Dutch asked. Hosea huffed a little as he sat up straighter.

“I could go see ol’ Ma Braithwaite again, take her up on that offer of cribbage, see what I can find out,” he said and Dutch was nodding along thoughtfully.

“Take Sean with you, it’ll do the boy some good to get out,” he said. “Arthur, I’ve sent John and Javier to the Grays, something about the Braithwaite’s horses. I want you to go meet them there.”

“How the hell did we get an in with the Grays?”

“Sheriff Gray put in a good word with his father,” Dutch explained. Arthur sighed and scratched at the back of his neck.

“You sure ‘bout this, Dutch? We got a lotta pots on the boil here,” he said, leaning closer to Dutch and keeping his voice low.

“Of course I’m sure, son. These fools aren’t gonna know what’s hit ‘em. We play both sides, rob ‘em blind and get outta there while they’re too busy blaming each other to notice us,” Dutch said firmly, getting to his feet and laying a flat palm against the table pointedly.

“If you say so,” Arthur grumbled, caving to Dutch’s plans like he always did.

“Look,” Hosea spoke up. “You, John and Javier deal with the horses, Sean and I won’t go ‘till you’re back. That way there’s no chance of them seeing us all there at once.”

“We ain’t got time to be holding back, Hosea,” Dutch warned, but Hosea turned his sharp eyes on him.

“We won’t have any time if they shoot us all to pieces before we work out where this gold is,” Hosea said in his fierce, yet calm voice. Arthur watched Dutch just about physically bite back a rebuttal. He sighed and waved a hand dismissively.

“Fine. You best be on your way then, Arthur.”

***

 

They were damn fools to think for even a second that they’d get two thousand for the horses. As the three of them rode back into camp, Arthur flung his Arab’s reins over the hitching post and stormed to Dutch’s tent.

“You’re back,” Dutch said with a smile, which quickly fell as he saw Arthur’s frustration painted plain on his face.

“This ain’t workin’, Dutch,” he snapped. “Them Gray’s don’t trust us, they think us damn fools and hell I’m starting to think maybe they’re right.” He was a little surprised by the venom in his voice, but the long months had been wearing at him. He felt stretched too thin, drawn out and exhausted. Dutch reached out and wrapped a hand around his bicep and Arthur couldn’t tell if the gesture was meant to be comforting or threatening. It didn’t really work either way.

“You gotta have some faith, Arthur,” he said and Arthur failed to bite back the bitter chuckle that rose in his chest.

“We don’t even know if there’s any money at the end of this! We was s’pose to be lying low after Valentine. We got Pinkerton’s and Cornwall at our backs, and you got us playing errand boys to these families? How long we gonna drag this out?” He pulled his arm out of Dutch’s grasp as he spoke, turning his back on the older man and staring out over the lake, anger roiling in his chest.

“We will drag this out as long as we need to,” Dutch said, his voice firm and authoritative. “You think I don’t know the danger we’re in? But if we wanna put some real distance between us and the damn hounds at our heels, we are gonna need money. I am trying to protect you. You are my son—“

“Then treat me like it!” Arthur snapped, spinning on his heel and staring Dutch down. There was a sick feeling rippling low in his gut, but it was overpowered by a hot, exhausted fury. He held eye contact with Dutch, who was stunned silent for a moment by Arthur’s outburst. He watched Dutch’s mouth twist around a few half formed words before he realised he didn’t want to hear what Dutch had to say in that moment. Without another word, he turned again and stalked over to his mare. He hauled himself into the saddle and kicked her up into a canter, riding out of camp without even a glance over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have A LOT of thoughts and feelings about a certain Mr van der Linde.
> 
> Also next chapter will be from Charles’ perspective, so look forward to that.


	4. Scheherazade

“Then treat me like it!”

 

Charles’ head turned to the harsh sound of Arthur’s voice cutting through the camp. He had seen Arthur, John and Javier ride back into camp after their latest job, and could tell the moment they came into view that it hadn’t gone well. He had wanted to go to Arthur, to check on him, but Arthur had gone straight to Dutch. Charles had sat by the fire, just out of earshot and waited. But as Arthur’s fury flew across camp, Charles was quickly on his feet and following. Tensions had been building between Arthur and Dutch for a while now. But Arthur so rarely lost his cool, was always quiet and compliant. As Charles swung into Taima’s saddle, still staring after where he had seen the last flash of Arthur’s white Arabian charging out of camp, he heard Hosea say his name. He flicked his gaze over his shoulder to where Hosea was turning to face him. He thought Hosea might tell him to leave it, to let Arthur be. But instead the older man’s face relaxed at the sight of Charles, already nudging Taima into a trot. He nodded at Charles, thankful, before rounding on Dutch with the kind of look that would cause even a raging bear to falter. Charles would have chuckled if he wasn’t so focused on the task at hand. He nudged Taima up into a canter, eyes on the fresh tracks Arthur had left.

Charles was thankful for the light bit of rain that had fallen the night before, softening the rich red soil enough that the tracks Arthur had left were clear. Charles was a damn good tracker, but the road Arthur had taken was well travelled, and on dry and dusty days the tracks all blurred into each other. Even with the thin layer of mud highlighting the freshest tracks, Charles had to constantly keep his eyes on the ground, trusting Taima to be his eyes ahead of them. He could tell Arthur was heading north west, towards the Heartlands. As he rode further from camp, the tracks we becoming harder and harder to follow. Charles chewed his lower lip, a tension pulling at his shoulders. Taima burred as they trotted over the train line, sensing his unease. He patted her neck as he pulled her back to a stop, having lost sight of the tracks.

“Damn it,” he muttered, looking up the road. The ground was drier here, and he knew there was little chance of picking up the trail again. He gave Taima a squeeze and she obediently loped onwards. He would continue north west, Arthur couldn’t be too far ahead of him.

 

He rode onwards until he reached the stables near Dewberry Creek. Charles pulled Taima up just near where the stable owner stood. He kept his heels lightly against Taima’s flank as he got the owner’s attention. Charles usually avoided initiating conversations with strangers, especially in Lemoyne, but he had a quick escape here if things went bad, and he needed to find Arthur.

“Excuse me,” he said, and the stable owner hummed in acknowledgment as he looked up.

“I’m looking for my friend. Big guy, woulda been riding a white Arabian?” Charles continued and the owner nodded.

“Oh yeah, he came riding past just a bit ago,” the owner replied and Charles felt just a little bit of the tension in his shoulders ease. “He usually stops in to pick up supplies, didn’t this time though.”

“Did you see which way he went?”

“Yeah, he was headed up Emerald Ranch way, I reckon.”

“Thank you,” Charles said. The owner nodded and turned back to his work, and Charles clicked his tongue to Taima, who happily bounced into a canter.

 

Charles didn’t end up needing to ask around at Emerald Ranch, as he caught sight of the distinct white Arabian just north of the ranch. As he rode Taima closer, he heard Arthur’s voice on the wind and he slowed, watching as Arthur drove a herd of wild horses across the Overflow. Charles squinted slightly in confusion, and pulled Taima to a halt. Arthur gave another shout and the herd picked up speed, breaking into a gallop as the hit the open ground at the base of the Overflow. There was a flash of light and a loud snapping sound, and Charles’ hand droppedinstinctively to his holster before he realised that while someone was shooting, it hadbeen the flash of a camera bulb, not a gun. He saw a man, bent over behind a camera, just below the rise where Charles now sat. Arthur had ridden over to the man with the camera, and Charles followed suit. By the time he came into earshot, Arthur had dismounted and was speaking fondly with the other man.

“You, sir, are a genius!” The other man gushed and Arthur chuckled in the dismissive way he often did whenreceiving compliments.

“No, but I can ride a horse,” he said.

“Wellin my world that makes you a genius,” the man replied.

“You’re too kind,” Arthur said. He looked like he was about to say something else, but Charles had drawn close now, and Arthur’s sharp senses had him looking up at him. Arthur drew in a quick breath and Charles saw a flash of some unreadable emotion flicker in his eyes for just a moment, before his face settled into a small, almost bashful grin. The man with the camera had noticed the change in Arthur’s mood and followed his gaze over to Charles.

“Oh, hello,” he said brightly. “A friend of yours, Mr Morgan?” Charlesswung down from Taima’s saddle and walked over.

“Ah, yes,” Arthur said. “Albert Mason this is my, uh— Charles. Charles Smith.” Arthur gestured to him, flustered. Charles couldn’t help the small chuckle that rumbled through his chest, but did manage to resist the urge to kiss Arthur. He was already growing used to being able to freely show his love for Arthur around camp, but he was also very used to hiding it.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr Smith,” the man - Albert Mason - said with a grin, extending his hand for Charles to shake.

“And you, Mr Mason,” Charles said as he shook the man’s hand. Charles was not one to trust quickly or lightly, but had already decided that he rather liked Albert Mason.

“I’ve been helping Mr Mason with his photography endeavours,” Arthur said and Charles glanced over at him, a fond smile on his face.

“Speaking of! I have a print of the wolves,” Albert said, digging through the bag that sat at the base of his tripod, triumphantly pulling out a photograph and handing it to Arthur. “Before they tried to eat us.” Charles watched as Arthur looked down at the photo, a small excitement in his eyes.

“That’s real fine,” he breathed, twisting to show the print to Charles. It was a stunning photograph. The wolves were crouched, close to the camera, looking both fierce and beautiful. Charles nodded his agreement.

“It’s for you,” Albert said, his voice light and nervous. Charles’ eyes flicked up from the print to see Albert looking somewhat shyly at Arthur. He felt a small, fond smile tug at his face. He certainly understood to nervous admiration that Albert clearly felt for Arthur.

“Like I said,” Arthur raised the print in Allbert’s direction, “it’s real fine.”

“Well thank you,” Albert blushed. Arthur nodded again, slipping the photo fondly into his satchel.

“Take care, Mr Mason,” Arthur said, patting Charles on the shoulder as he began to walk back to his horse.

“You too, sir,” Albert said. “And you, Mr Smith.” Charles gave him a smile, before quickly falling into step beside Arthur. As they both mounted up, Arthur glanced over to him.

“Dutch send you?” He asked quietly, a tired weight to his voice.

“No,” Charles said, reaching out to touch Arthur’s shoulder. “I think Hosea would have, if I hadn’t already been heading out after you.” Arthur let out a huff, and Charles wasn’t quite sure if it was meant to be a chuckle or a sigh.

“Thanks,” Arthur said quietly and Charles gave him a small, comforting smile. “I guess we should head back.” Arthur’s face had grown weary at the prospect, and it tugged at Charles’ chest.

“We can get away with being out a few more hours,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. Arthur’s eyes flicked up at him, a little brighter.

“You’re a bad influence, Mr Smith,” he chuckled. Charles merely shrugged in response before squeezing Taima into a canter.

“Come on, then,” he called over his shoulder to Arthur. “We’ll grab some deer to keep Pearson happy for a few days.”

 

Itdidn’t take them long to have a doe and a buck slung over Taima and the Arabian’s rumps. Arthur was getting better and better with the bow, Charles had noted. It was heading well towards evening by the time they had the carcasses secured, and so Charles suggested they set up camp, and return to Clemens Point in the morning. He was relieved when Arthur didn’t put up a fight. Charles got a fire going while Arthur tended to the horses. After they both settled around the fire, Charles nodded over to where the little Arabian grazed happily at Taima’s side.

“You think of a name for her yet?” He asked. Arthur leant back a little, running a hand over his chin. Charles watched as a tiny, mischievous grin formed on Arthur’s face as he stared at his horse.

“Would it be too on the nose to call her Contessa?” He asked. Charles raised an eyebrow, and Arthur glanced back over to him, the grin widening. It took a lot of strength for Charles to keep a straight face.

“Yes,” he said firmly, fakingdisappointment. He only held a few seconds longer, before theyboth broke into a fit of giggles that were probably quite unbecoming for two notorious outlaws. If they hadn’t been out in the open, Charles would have swept Arthur into his arms, would have kissed him. Instead, he settled for pressing his shoulder against him, touching him as much as would still be deemed innocent by anyone who happened to pass by. As Arthur leant into the touch, their laughter settled.

“Honestly, though,” Arthur said after clearing his throat, “I was thinkin’ of calling her Scheherazade.”

“Scheherazade?” Charles asked. It was a beautiful name, and he guessed that Arthur had picked it for a reason.

“It’s from a story Hosea told me and John when we was young. Scheherazade was a princess or something, and this guy had married her and was gonna kill her in the morning, but she told her little sister a story and stopped half way through, so the guy let her live so she could finish the story the next night. She kept stopping half way through stories for a thousand ‘n one nights, before she ran outta stories. But the guy had fallen in love with her by then, and so didn’t kill her.”

Charles watched the firelight play across Arthur’s face as he told the story. He knew Arthur thought himself stupid, thought he had no charm or beauty or worth. But Charles knew better. Watching him retell the story, quiet and reverent, Charles was mesmerised. Arthur was so beautiful in that moment, staring into the flames of their little campfire, a far away look in his eyes and the tiniest grin on his lips. Charles was smiling too, in his own small way.

“It’s a good name,” he said, and wanted nothing more than to wrap his fingers around Arthur’s, to hold him. Arthur glanced up at him, just out the corner of his eye. The small smile had turned shy now, and all of Arthur’s doubts and fears so clearly fighting against the compliment. What Charles would give to kiss Arthur, to whisper promises and compliments until he would finally listen, finally know how much he meant to Charles, to Dutch, to the whole gang.

 

They set up seperate tents that night, opposite sides of the fire, and left the flaps open so they could see each other. They had only shared a bed once, up in the cabin at Cairn Lake, but Charles was already missing Arthur’s warmth, wrapped in his arms. Nights were always the hardest for Charles. Years of running on his own forcing habits of light sleep, never feeling fully rested. Even on nights when he wasn’t plagued by nightmares, he went to bed late and rose early, forcing himself beyond whatever weariness weighed at him because that was the only way to survive. The months he had run with the Van der Linde Gang were better, but that night he had wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist, had felt the heat and warmth of his soulmate pressed against his chest had been the first night since his mother disappeared that he had truly slept, deep and calm and content. As he stared out the flaps of his tent, he could just see Arthur’s outline in his own tent, chest rising and falling in time with the quiet, rumbling snores Charles could just faintly hear. It was comfort enough for Charles to be lulled towards sleep himself.

 

The ride back to Clemens Point was slow, quiet and relaxed. Even as Arthur fidgeted lightly with Scheherazade’s reins, clearly not looking forward to returning to camp, he still gave Charles calm and genuine smiles whenever he looked over to him. Javier was on watch as they trotted through the tree line, giving them a fond greeting. It was still relatively early, though most of the camp was awake by now. Kieran gave them an anxious smile as they hitched their horses and Susan was already ribbing Karen for supposedly slacking off on some job or another. Taima burred happily as Charles hoisted the buck carcass off her rump, and he fell in step beside Arthur, who had the other carcass slung overhis own shoulder. They dropped off the meat to a very pleased Pearson and as they began to walk away from the chuck wagon Arthur gave a soft sigh and scratched the back of his head.

“I should probably go speak to Dutch,” he muttered. Charles gave him a wry grin and nodded. Arthur moved to walk off, but Charles reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder to turn him back and pull him in for a kiss. Charles grinned against Arthur’s lips as he watched the little shocked look on his face melt into a contented smile. Every time Charles kissed him, Arthur closed his eyes and blushed. The sight of it warmed Charles’ chest just as much as the sensation of Arthur’s lips against his did. It was pleasant and soft in a way Charles and Arthur so rarely allowed themselves to be. As Arthur slowly pulled away, blush still colouring his cheeks just a touch, Charles gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. Arthur turned away once more, and Charles made his way over to the scout fire. He didn’t get a chance to take a seat before he heard Hosea calling his name. He turned back towards the camp, and saw Hosea striding towards him, waving him over. Charles walked over, returning Hosea’s smile.

“Come on,” Hosea said when Charles reached his side. “Family meeting.”

 

Charles walked into most unknown situations the same way, calm but alert. As he followed a half step behind Hosea toward Dutch’s tent, he knew there wasn’t going to be danger, but he felt the tension just under his skin that came with high risk situations. A few barrels and a table had been dragged in front of Dutch’s tent, and a large map of the area was laid out on the surface. Dutch was standing at one end of the table, John and Arthur on his left and right. Arthur looked up as he and Hosea approached and gave him a comforting smile. It eased the tension a little, but he still felt like an intruder, even as he sat at Arthur’s side. Arthur seemed to sense his concern, and put a hand on his thigh. Charles knew that it was for Arthur’s benefit as much as his own. He could see the clench of Arthur’s jaw and the way he was very pointedly looking anywhere other than at Dutch. The two men had obviously not spoken yet, and so Charles placed his own hand on top of Arthur’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. Hosea had sat now too, opposite Dutch. Despite the fact he stood perfectly still, Dutch gave off the energy of pacing. His eyes flicked between the men at the table before him, the constant air of authority and charisma that was so very Dutch seemingly dulled ever so slightly.There was gentleness in his eyes that Charles had never seen before. It wasn’t that he thought Dutch a cruel man, but he was certainly a hard and proud man. But in this moment Charles could see something just a little softer. There was a quiet tension inthe air, everyone waiting for Dutch to speak. He leant forward in his seat and tapped his fingers lightly against the table as he took a breath to steady himself.

“I owe you all an apology,” Dutch said, his voice quiet and almost reverent. The feeling of intrusion and discomfort welled in Charles’ gut. He felt Arthur’s fingers clench involuntarily against his thigh, and watched as he raised his head to finally look at Dutch, who held his son’s gaze. “Especially you, Arthur.”

“S’okay, Dutch,” Arthur muttered, dropping his gaze to the table once more. Charles wanted to grab Arthur’s face, to tell him he was worth more, that he shouldn’t let Dutch off so easy. He settled for squeezing his hand, firmly and comfortingly.

“We need a plan, for moving forward,” Dutch continued, his voice shifting back to his usual tone, the moment passing. Charles respected Dutch, was thankful for being brought into the gang, for being given the safety net and the chance to help others. But he felt furious, that Dutch could pass over Arthur so easily. Dutch clearly felt that the apology had resolved the issue, and that Arthur’s acceptance was the correct response. It made Charles’ fingers itch, his throat tighten with a frustrated sadness. He had no right to speak against Dutch, he knew, but he wished he could. For Arthur’s sake.

“These families are using us, Dutch,” John spoke up, distracting Charles enough that he was able to ease the instinctual fury. He knew he was overreacting, and so forced his focus to John, who was fidgeting under Dutch’s scrutinised gaze like he expected to be reprimanded for speaking. But there was also a challenge in his eyes, like he wanted Dutch to fight him. Charles knew the feeling.

“I believe you’re right,” Dutch drawled, nodding solemnly. John looked both calmed and disappointed. “I had hoped we could use them more than they were using us, but it seems they’re a step ahead of us.”

“And I think,” Hosea said, speaking for the first time, “we need to accept there isn’t any gold.” Dutch’s eyes turned to his old friend at that, frustration furrowing his brow.

“Hosea, are you sure?” Dutch asked, and Hosea nodded. Charles felt his gut sink. All the work, all the things Arthur had been forced to do, and there wasn’t going to be any payout.

“I’ve turned over every lead we’ve got, and there’s just no sign of it. If there ever was any, it’s long lost now.” Hosea’s voice was resigned but firm.

“Well what the hell are we going to do?” John snapped, eyes flicking between Dutch and Hosea.

“We need to back off, and we need to do it now,” Hosea said calmly, placing a hand on the table next to where John was anxiously drumming his fingers on the surface.

“And then what? Just hope a pile of gold falls in our laps before the Pinkertons find us?” John was shaking his head angrily, and Dutch was glaring at Hosea. Arthur’s hand tightened slightly around Charles’ and he squeezed back gently, trying to ease the tension.

“John...” Hosea warned.

“He’s right, Hosea,” Dutch snapped. “We need money, we need a lot of it, and we need it soon. If there’s none with these families, then weneed to find some somewhere else.”

“I know, Dutch,” Hosea said with a heavy sigh. For a moment, Hosea looked exhausted, running a hand over his face with slumped shoulders. Something about the sight seemed to soften everyone around the table. John’s squared shoulders and pinched brow eased, Arthur’s grip on Charles’ thigh loosened, and even Dutch’ anger turned weary. Hosea leant his elbows on the table as he stared off into the middle distance. A silence had fallen over the group, the conversation having run itself into circles, still unresolved. The only sound was John, who was anxiously picking at a splinter in the wood of the table. Charles found his gaze stuck on Hosea. He had always found the older man wise and graceful, in a dangerous kind of way. He commanded attention, even now as his eyes were glazed over and his shoulder drooping. Charles knew everyone was trying to think of something to say. It was a rare day that Dutch was at a loss for words.

Suddenly, Hosea’s eyes sparked back to life as he squinted at something in camp. Charles followed his gaze to see Sadie, standing by the stew pot, smoking. He glanced back to Hosea, who had the look of a man forming a brilliant and stupid plan.

“Watch it, O’Driscoll.” The rasp of Sadie’s voice carried across the camp.

“I ain’t an O’Driscoll.” Hosea watched with sharp eyes as Kieran passed by Sadie, a little too close for the woman’s liking. The focused pinch of his jaw shifted to a cunning smirk.

“Mr Matthews,” Dutch muttered conspiratorially. Charles realised that everyone around the table was leaning in a little, drawn in by Hosea’s knowing and mischievous look. “Care to share with the group?”

 

Sometimes, Charles wondered if the only reason they were the ‘Van Der Linde Gang’ was because the ‘Matthews Gang’ just didn’t have the same ring to it. As Hosea laid out his plan, everyone around the table sat in enraptured silence. It was the first solid and concise plan Charles had heard in a long time and Hosea made it sound like the simplest thing in the world. But Arthur’s leg bounced anxiously next to him, John continued to pick at the table and Charles could practically feel how tight Dutch was clenching his jaw.

“Hosea, are you sure about this?” Arthur finally said when Hosea finished explaining.

“It’s risky, I know,” Hosea conceded. “But it’s guaranteed money if we can pull it off — which I fully believe we can.”

“It’d be more than enough to get us outta here, especially with what we’ve already got,” John muttered, eyeing the still suspiciously silent Dutch. There was a quiet pause as Dutch considered what had been suggested.

“What do you think, Mr Smith?” Dutch finally asked. Charles took a second, gathering his thoughts.

“It’s the best plan we’ve got,” he said. “And if Hosea believes we can pull it off, then I trust him.”

“It’s not us I’m worried about,” Dutch muttered, staring over John’s shoulder. Charles didn’t need to follow his eye line to know who Dutch was looking at.

“We can trust them,” Arthur said, quiet but firm. Dutch’s eyes flicked back to Arthur and there was a brief flash of anger. Arthur met Dutch’s gaze, and for a moment Charles thought Dutch was about to snap at Arthur. But the moment passed and Dutch simply nodded.

“Alright, son,” he said. He then turned his attention back to the whole group at the table. He got to his feet and laid his palms flat against the table’s surface. He flashed them all a wicked grin, and Charles’ couldn’t help feel the rush of excitement that spread over them. Dutch’s moods were always infectious, but his excitement was certainly the most infectious.

“Well then, boys, it seems we have a plan,” he said, his voice grand and sweeping. He then stood to his full height and looked over John’s shoulder once more.

“Mrs Adler!” He called out. Sadie looked over, hat pushed back on her head and cigarette dangly from her lips.

“Come join us,” Hosea called warmly.

“And bring the O’Driscoll,” Dutch added. Sadie raised an eyebrow. Charles couldn’t help but flash Arthur a grin. It was a damn risky plan, they all knew, but even having a plan at all had him feeling a lot more settled. It seemed to be the case for Arthur too, given the grin he received from him. Sadie and Kieran had made their way over to the table, Kieran trailing behind Sadie like a dog who knew he was about to get disciplined.

“What’s happening, boys?” Sadie drawled, leaning on the post of Dutch’s tent. Hosea grinned up at her.

“We have a job for you two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short-ish chapter this time, but I’m thinking the next few chapters are going to be pretty meaty. Thank you everyone for all your lovely comments and for 200 kudos!


	5. The Road to Blackwater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! I got a new job and have been run off my feet. This one’s relatively short and sweet, and pretty dialogue heavy, but I just wanted to get it out to you guys and let you know I’m still alive and still working on this

Arthur felt his heart swell a little every time Charles smiled at him, but especially in that moment around the table outside Dutch’s tent. They had a plan. A real, solid, achievable plan. It was stupidly dangerous, but it was a guaranteed way out if Sadie and Kieran could pull it off. Charles had smiled back at him as they had made their way over and Hosea had told them they had a job for them. Sadie grinned at the prospect of work. Kieran looked like someone had just aimed a rifle at him, frozen in place. As quickly as it sprouted, Sadie’s grin dropped as she glanced back over her shoulder at Kieran.

“Wait, you’re sending me out with him?” She snipped, and Hosea nodded.

“You two are the only ones who weren’t with us at Blackwater,” he said. Sadie raised an eyebrow.

“We going to Blackwater?” She leaned in a little closer. Kieran looked even more shocked and scared, somehow. Hosea gestured for them to take a seat. Sadie swung herself down and leant her elbows on the table eagerly. Kieran shuffled forward but stayed standing. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Sit down, boy,” he snapped. “We ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Kieran did as he was told. Arthur felt Charles give his hand a squeeze. As he glanced over, he saw the slightly disapproving look Charles was giving him. He sighed. Charles didn’t need to say anything, Arthur could tell he thought he was being unnecessarily hard on Kieran. Arthur turned and gave Kieran something akin to an apologetic smile. The boy softened a little, though he still shifted anxiously in his seat, eyes flicking between everyone else gathered at the table.

“Well Mrs Adler, your day has finally arrived,” Hosea said merrily, as he shared a wicked grin with Sadie.

“About time,” she said and Dutch laughed.

“Few more like her, and we could take over the world,” Dutch said.

“Few more like her, and there won’t be any world left for us,” Arthur replied, earning him a sharp, toothy grin from Sadie and a chuckle from Dutch and Hosea.

“So what’s this about Blackwater?” Sadie prompted, clearly eager.

“Hosea has reminded us that we already have most of the money we need to get out of here,” Dutch explained, rising from his seat and stalking around the table to clap his hands on Hosea’s shoulders, a little closer to his neck than most would deem friendly. Arthur doubted anyone else at the table noticed it, but he saw the way Hosea stiffened just a little and shifted in his seat. Probably from the fact that Dutch’s fingers were grazing against Hosea’s collarbone, with only few layers of fabric between them and where Dutch’s name was written on Hosea’s skin. Arthur was once again amazed at how Hosea had managed to survive with Dutch as his soulmate for all these years.

“And we are done with these damn families,” John grumbled. They were all still sore over the debacle with the horses.

“But I thought you said there was no way to get the money from Blackwater?” Sadie asked.

“It certainly ain’t gonna be easy, and it’ll be the two of you who will be most at risk,” Hosea explained, rolling his shoulders a little to lean in to where Dutch still had his hands on him.

“But the Pinkertons shouldn’t know either of you,” Arthur said, before narrowing his eyes at Kieran. “Unless Colm had dealings with them earlier than him kidnappin’ me?”

“Not... not that I knew of, Arthur.” Kieran stumbled over his words. “So even if he did, then they still wouldn’t know me. Like I said, I was nobody to them.”

“Yeah, and you’re still nobody,” Sadie snapped.

“You two are going to have to get along if you’re going to work together,” Charles said, his steady gaze on Sadie.

“I ain’t gonna pretend to like an O’Driscoll,” Sadie seethed, and Arthur could just about hear the ‘I ain’t an O’Driscoll’ that was about to come out of Kieran’s mouth.

“Nobody is asking you to do that,” Hosea said firmly, before Kieran could say anything. Arthur recognised Hosea’s tone, and he and John both instinctually flinched at it. “Mr Duffy has proven his loyalty time and time again. He saved Arthur’s life, and he is one of the hardest workers in this camp.”

Arthur watched as Kieran practically glowed under the praise. Sadie, on the other hand, seemed to be fluctuating between her usual vivid fury and looking like a chastised child. She quickly calmed, or at least became as calm as Sadie could ever be. Most likely reminding herself that she was going out on a proper job, like she had been begging to do for weeks now. Hosea had kept his steely gaze on her while she settled, and continued explaining the job once he was satisfied she was actually listening.

“Sadie I want you to ride out to West Elizabeth for a few days. Scope out the area around Blackwater, work out what the patrols are like. You probably won’t be able to avoid them entirely, but — as we said — you shouldn’t need to cause they shouldn’t be looking for you specifically. Focus on the west side of town, I’ll show you specifically where the stash is on a map when you get back from scouting, but I want you to work out a way into town that won’t be too guarded, and an escape route for if things get hairy.”

“Am I taking the O’Dr—“ Hosea levelled a glare at her. “Kieran with me?”

“No,” Hosea said. “It’s too dangerous for him to leave camp for too long, and you’re more than capable of handling the scouting.” Sadie nodded.

“Sure am. When am I leaving?”

“First thing tomorrow,” Dutch said. Sadie nodded.

“Best get ready then,” she said, hoisting herself out of her seat and giving them all a farewell nod.

“Mr Duffy,” Hosea said, “I’m going to send John out to get you a small cart. I want you to pick the best pulling horses and get them prepped, in case you two need to make a break for it.”

“We ain’t just taking our own horses?” Kieran asked.

“We’ve got a lot of money in that town,” Dutch said with a wicked grin. Kieran nodded nervously and glanced between everyone sitting at the table, like he was waiting for someone to say something else.

“Kieran,” Charles said quietly, catching the boy’s eye.

“Mmhmm?”

“He means now.” Charles gave a small, comforting smile as Kieran’s eyes went wide with realisation and he jumped to his feet.

“Right, yes, of course, right away,” Kieran babbled as he nodded and then scampered away.

“You sure he’s up for this?” John asked, sceptically raising an eyebrow at Arthur. All Arthur could do was hum thoughtfully as he rubbed at his beard.

“Sadie’ll keep him in line,” Hosea said and John shrugged. Dutch had stalked back to his seat at the head of the table, giving Arthur’s shoulder a squeeze as he passed. Some instinct in Arthur had nearly flinched at the touch. He was still frustrated with Dutch, but he knew that the apology he got earlier was all he was going to get from the other man. Frankly, the apology had been more than Arthur had expected - especially without the chance to actually talk to Dutch one on one. He wondered what exactly Hosea had said while he and Charles were out. Dutch tapping his ringed fingers on the wood of the table pulled Arthur out of his thoughts.

“So, we have — or at least, we will have — the money we need to get out of the hell hole. The next thing is where, exactly, are we going?” Dutch said, his voice carrying the full Van Der Linde style and weight that Arthur knew meant Dutch was in a good mood.

“West,” John said firmly. “That’s always been the plan. Get money then go west!” Dutch opened his mouth to berate him, but Hosea beat him to it.

“There’s a whole lotta West from here John, we need specifics. Once we get the money from Blackwater, we gotta go straight away and we gotta know exactly where we are going.”

“And how we’re getting there,” Charles added, and Hosea nodded.

“Exactly,” he said. “These damn Pinkertons are determined to keep us right where we are, so we gotta find a way around them.”

“I think we need to take a bit of time here,” Charles said. “Maybe do some scouting up north and get a better idea of what the Pinkerton patrols are like.” Arthur felt himself entranced by the furrow of Charles’ brow as he spoke quietly and thoughtfully. Arthur had been worried, when Hosea had brought Charles over to their meeting, that he would feel unable to speak up. But Arthur knew that Charles was one of the best among them, and if they wanted the best plan, they needed his help. And, as Hosea had reminded him, he’s part of the family now. Dutch was watching Charles closely too, and nodded his agreement.

“I agree, Mr Smith. I’ll send Mr Escuella up to get a lay of the land.” He said.

“Send Lenny too,” Arthur said before he second guessed himself. “The kid’s got a good head on him, and he’s probably real sick of being stuck in camp.”

“No one’s trapping him here,” Dutch said, and Arthur was surprised by the bitter chuckle that Charles let out, earning himself a questioning eyebrow from Dutch.

“Tell that to the residents of Lemoyne,” Charles said firmly, unflinching under Dutch’s fiery gaze. There was a heavy silence as Dutch glared over at Charles in the way that Arthur knew meant he was hiding the fact that he was confused. Arthur had learned a long time ago that Dutch didn’t like it when there was something he didn’t understand. Arthur remembered Lenny’s words when they had ridden out to Shady Belle a few weeks ago. All respect, Arthur, but you wouldn’t notice. And Dutch had barely left camp except to ply the drunkard of a sheriff in Rhodes. If Arthur hadn’t noticed just how bad things were down here when he had been traipsing through Lemoyne nearly every day since they had arrived, there was no way Dutch would have noticed.

“Lotta folks haven’t let the war go, down here,” he clarified, drawing Dutch’s gaze away from Charles. Dutch’s face softened a touch with realisation.

“Ah, of course,” he said. “Yes, we’ll send young Lenny out too then.”

 

Arthur fought down the swell of hope that fell across his chest. There was still so much that could go wrong. The people chasing them still had way too much money, they were still trapped between Pinkertons and the ocean, they still had O’Driscoll and Raiders and who knew who else causing trouble all around them. But when Dutch was grinning mischievously, and even Hosea had a sparkle in his eyes, Arthur couldn’t help but feel excited.

“Alright,” Hosea said. “One more thing before you head off, John. Arthur would you grab the ledger?” Arthur obliged, ducking behind Dutch’s tent and grabbing the book. He set it down on the table when he got back.

“So, how are our camp funds going?” Hosea asked. Arthur flicked open the book and thumbed through to the current page.

“Six hundred and eighty five dollars,” Arthur said. There was a beat of silence and when Arthur looked up everyone around the table was staring at him. He swallowed around the panic rising in his throat.

“There was- uh there was a bit more, but one of the locals was sellin’ a boat, and, well you and Javier were always fishing anyway and it gave Kieran a little more freedom, so I thought it’d be worth it, I’m sorry.” He knew he was rambling and that he should just shut up and take the berating he was no doubt about to get from Dutch about overspending, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Arthur.” Hosea placed a hand on the table near him, silencing him. Arthur swallowed again, his throat tight.

“Sorry,” he muttered, only earning himself a glare from Hosea.

“Arthur.” Dutch’s tone was more baffled than angry and Arthur looked over at him, biting back the apology that nearly slipped out. “You telling me we’ve got nearly seven hundred for the camp alone?” Arthur nodded, anxiety giving way to confusion. He knew that he had been contributing significantly more than the others, but he thought that with all Dutch had been ranting about them needing more money, that it still wouldn’t be enough. But he was now seeing the wide-eyed look John was giving him, and the baffled smile on Dutch’s face.

“How much you been putting in, Arthur?” John said. Arthur shrugged, even though he knew exactly how much. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

“Just the camps fair share of the bits I’ve been picking up from jobs and that,” he muttered.

“And you call me the hardest worker in camp,” Charles said with a fond chuckle. He glanced over at the other man, feeling a blush rise into his cheeks. Charles was grinning at him, and Arthur ducked his head before he did something embarrassing like tear up at the tiny gesture.

“This is great, Arthur,” Hosea said and Arthur felt hollow with relief.

“This is more than great, this is perfect,” Dutch said, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. “That’s more than enough to get us through to wherever we’re going. We’ll need more to get set up, but we won’t know how much until we have a more solid plan.”

“Well done, Arthur,” Hosea said, his voice quiet and soft and Arthur felt his chest tighten.

“Alright, then,” Dutch said loudly, thankfully breaking the moment. “John, I want you to go get that wagon for Mr Duffy.” John nodded and rose to his feet, making his was over to Old Boy. Dutch then gave Arthur and Charles a nod, clearly dismissing them. Charles took Arthur’s hand as they got up and Hosea gave them both a fond grin as they walked away.

 

They ended up standing on the end of the pier sharing a cigarette. It was just past midday, the Lemoyne sun unforgiving above them and bouncing off the lake in sharp glares. But Arthur felt pleasantly warm next to Charles, who was leaning slightly against his shoulder. Their usual silence draped around them until Arthur flicked the butt of the used cigarette into the lake and Charles nudged him fondly.

“I meant to ask,” Charles said, and Arthur hummed as he turned his head to look at him. “You aware that Albert Mason is head over heels for you?”

Arthur spluttered and stepped away a half step.

“What? Albert? No, he ain’t!” Arthur watched as Charles’ calm expression broke into a mischievous grin. Blush rose in Arthur’s cheeks, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the teasing or from just the way Charles looked at him.

“I believe I have some expertise in the matter,” Charles grinned, stepping closer. “And I feel very certain he’s sweet on you.” Arthur stammered out something akin to a rebuttal, but it was hard to form coherent sentences with Charles standing so close to him. Clearly sensing that he was about to win the argument, Charles’ grin widened and he opened his mouth to speak. Arthur didn’t let him, closing the distance between them with a kiss. Charles was apparently expecting him to play dirty and simply stepped up and wrapped his hands around Arthur’s waist, deepening the kiss. Arthur was pretty sure he lost a few seconds, one of his hands tangling into Charles’ hair. Sudden as the kiss started, the world lurched around him. That was all the warning he had before both he and Charles hit the water. He kicked his way to the surface and as soon as air filled his lungs again he blinked up at the pier to spot the culprit, though he already had a good idea who it would be.

“Cool off!” John shouted down at him and Charles, who had just surfaced next to him, honest to god giggling.

“John Marston you are a dead man!” Arthur roared, and clambered onto the pier. John gave a help and bolted into camp, laughing. Arthur raced after him, slowed a little by his waterlogged boots and clothes. He caught him by the scout fire, flinging his entire weight down onto the younger man. John fought back bravely, but Arthur was stronger by far and quickly had the other man pinned to the ground with his arms behind his back. Arthur laughed triumphantly as John wriggled helplessly beneath him.

“You give up, boy?” He asked. John gave a grunt and tried once more to break free, before slumping in defeat.

“Fine, you win,” he grumbled and Arthur chuckled before releasing him and helping him to his feet.

“Weren’t you s’pose to be heading out to get a cart for Kieran?” Arthur asked.

“I was about to, just wanted to grab some food to take with. Then I saw a perfect opportunity,” John said with a grin and Arthur shook his head fondly, and clapped John on the shoulder.

“Go on then, get outta here before I dunk you!” He said and John threw up his hands in defence.

“I’m going!” He laughed before turning and heading to the hitching posts. Arthur turned and made his way back towards the lake, where Charles was standing on the end of the pier, wringing out his long, dark hair. Arthur’s stride slowed as he took in the sight. Charles’ back was to him with his sleeves pushed just over his elbows, and the midday sun was glistening on his skin and streaking across his hair.

“Oh you got it bad, English!” Laughed Sean from where he was sat at the campfire. Arthur shot him a murderous glare that only caused the Irishman to laugh uproariously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also just wanted to note that this will end up having some quality VanDerMatthews content, but it’s gonna be a bit of a slow burn to get there. I originally was gonna have the Arthur/Charles be slow burn but uuuhhh that didn’t happen. So slow burn Dutch/Hosea it is!
> 
> (Dutch voice) I Have a PLAN!


	6. Stay the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as this is a Arthur/Charles fic, I’m realising more and more that this fic is also very much a love letter to Hosea - Best Outlaw Dad. Anyway, enjoy the new chapter!

Over the next few days, the camp came alive with energy. John was back with a small cart before the sun set, and everyone was eager to hear the new plan. Those who hadn’t been in the meeting had seen the flurry and not long after John got back, Dutch had a small crowd gathered around the main campfire as he laid out the plan in his classic Van Der Linde style. As soon as the speech began, Arthur slipped away and wandered over to where he saw Hosea sitting at the scout fire. Hosea gave him a weary smile as he sat himself down next to him.

“Not going to make sure he actually gives you the credit for this plan?” Arthur asked, nodding to where Dutch was presenting to the crowd. Hosea chuckled quietly.

“Not really worth the effort,” he said. “Besides, this way it’s his fault if it all goes wrong.” It was said as a joke, but Arthur could feel the worry that ran underneath it.

“It’ll work out, Hosea,” Arthur said, placing a hand on the older man’s knee. Hosea sighed.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it would work. I just...” He paused and looked over to where Dutch was pacing in front of the fire. They were too far away to hear what was being said, but they could see Dutch gesticulating wildly. Hosea’s eyes were tired and sad as they followed Dutch’s movements.

“I’m just worried, I guess,” Hosea finished and Arthur nodded.

“I know the feeling,” he mumbled. “Feels like we’re a lot more lost than we ever have been.”

“Dutch seems to think it’s everyone else who’s lost,” Hosea said quietly, his eyes never leaving Dutch’s form.

“Sometimes I thinkit’s Dutch who’s themost lost.” It was a feeling that had been floating around camp for a while, unsaid and heavy in the air. The words felt thickand uncomfortable on Arthur’s tongue, but there was a feeling of reliefas he said them. Hosea was nodding slightly, finally dragging his eyes away from where Dutch had almost the entire gang enraptured by his speech. Him, Hosea, Charles and Sadie were the only ones not around the fire, Sadie getting some sleep before her early start the next day and Charles happily taking guard duty.

“Whole world’s changing,” Arthur continued, looking away from Dutch to stare into the fire in front of him, fingers picking idly at the denim of his jeans. “Guess we gotta change with it, or leave it behind.” He felt Hosea place a comforting hand on his shoulder and he sighed.

“We’re a hell of a long way from where we started,” Hosea said. “But that just means we are capable of change. Just gotta make sure we make the right changes now.”

“How’re we supposed to know what the ‘right’ changes are? Pinkertons would say we gotta follow their rules, Dutch wants us makin’ our own rules. Then there’s alll those folk just tryna get by, wishing everyone’s stop killing them, government and outlaws alike.”

He didn’t raise his voice, the frustration and confusion just making him tired, rather than angry.Hosea’s hand was rubbing gentle circles on his back now as the older man sighed.

“I can’t say I have all the answers, son,” he said quietly. “You gotta figure out what’s right for you, I guess, and go from there.”

 

They sat in silence for a while after that, Hosea’s hand never stopping its gentle circling until Arthur’s eyelids grew heavy and he felt sleep pulling at him, he didn’t realise he had drifted off until he felt someone nudge him awake. He blinked up from where he was resting again Hosea’s shoulder to see Charles crouched next to him.

“Hey,” he muttered, Charles giving him a fond smile.

“Hey,” Charles replied before gently taking his elbow to help him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Arthur hummed his agreement, giving Hosea a thankful squeeze on the shoulder once he was upright.

“Night, Arthur,” Hosea said quietly.

“Night, Pa.” If he had been a little more awake he might have been embarrassed by the slip up. He hadn’t called Hosea ‘Pa’ since he was a teenager. Once their little family had started to grow into a gang, he had gotten sick of the weird looks the others had given him about it and eventually stopped.

 

He didn’t necessarily need Charle’s help to walk to his cot, but he welcomed it anyway. He felt weary down to his bones, the kind of tired that didn’t come from long days in the saddle, but from the circles his brain had been running in for the last few days. He sat down on his cot, Charles’ fingers gently massaging the back of his neck as he toed his boots off. Charles pressed a light kiss to his temple and moved to leave, but Arthur wrapped his fingers gently around his wrist.

“Stay?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper and his eyes cast to the floor.

“Of course,” Charles muttered against his hair, and slowly sat down next to him. It was a tight fit on the cot, but after some shuffling they settled, with Arthur tucked into the crook of Charles’ shoulder, half on top of the other man.

 

Arthur slept heavily that night, but woke with the sun as usual, faint memories of nightmares pressing against his chest. He blinked away the feeling of unease, pushing it from his mind as he registered the warmth beside him. He glanced up slightly to see Charles smiling down at him, clearly having only just woken himself.

“Morning,” Arthur muttered, feeling Charles gently thread his fingers through Arthur’s hair. He leaned back into the touch and sighed.

“Morning,” Charles replied with his usual gentle tone. They lay there quietly for a moment, enjoying each other’s company, before Charles shifted slightly.

“Sorry, arm’s going numb,” he said and Arthur chuckled sheepishly as he sat up, freeing Charles’ shoulder from under his weight. He got up, and used the bowl of water at his shaving kit to splash his face, bringing himself fully awake. He looked back at Charles, who was still sitting on the cot, pulling his hair back into a loose and low ponytail.

“Thank you,” Arthur said quietly. “For staying.”

Charles glanced up at him, his eyes soft and fond in a way that made Arthur feel light and warm.

“Any time, Arthur,” he said, getting to his feet and wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist. As he pressed a kiss into his neck, Arthur sighed contentedly and relished the touch.

 

Arthur still felt weary as he went about his chores that morning, but this time just from the weeks of minimal sleep catching up to him. He had seen Sadie off as he laid out the horses morning hay, and Charles had given him a quick kiss as they crossed paths - Arthur hauling sacks to Pearson’s wagon, Charles stepping out to go hunting. Things felt just that little bit lighter, and as Arthur thought over his conversation with Hosea the night before, he found himself feeling hopeful. He still didn’t have any real answers, was pretty sure he never really would, but the path felt just that little bit clearer and he was reminded that he wasn’t walking it alone.

 

Lenny and Javier left just before midday, Dutch sending them off. Hosea spent the day pooling over maps and flicking through books. Every now and then Dutch or John would stop by and offer an opinion. Arthur chose to stay clear. He wasn’t the brains in the group, so he doubted he had anything to offer to the planning that hadn’t already been said. He hoped that they’d be heading back California way, but he knew that Hosea would find somewhere for them. He knew the West wasn’t what he remembered, and that they could never go back to the West of his youth, so he trusted Hosea and Dutch and the others to find them somewhere that would be right for them, wherever that was.

 

And so it was for the next few days, everyone settling into the waiting game as bests they could. Nothing could be done until the scouts got back and Dutch and Hosea settled on their next move. Arthur was already starting to feel restless, he rarely spent more than a day at a time in camp, but he knew it was best to stick around so that they could act as soon as the scouts returned. He did his best to occupy himself, filling most of his waking hours with any chores he could find. He also did his best to avoid Micah, who was taking this opportunity of being stuck in camp to be as annoying as possible. Many times he had tried to weasel his way into Dutch and Hosea’s planning sessions, but on the few times Dutch hadn’t immediately dismissed him, Hosea made it painfully obvious that he wasn’t welcome. And that pissed Micah off something fierce. The part of Arthur that was always angry wanted to antagonise Micah, itching for the chance to put the bastard in his place. But he kept remembering the look on Micah’s face when he had found Arthur and Charles in the mountains and dreaded what Micah might do to Charles if Arthur picked a fight. It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t think Charles could handle himself - he personally had seen Charles literally throw Micah to the ground once - he just knew that Micah could play dirty. He was exactly the type to go after Charles to hurt Arthur. Arthur couldn’t bare the thought that his actions could lead to Charles getting hurt, and the last thing he wanted was to cause any unnecessary trouble - for Charles or the camp as a whole.

  
Charles spent most nights in Arthur’s tent now. Arthur kind of wished he had a larger cot - neither of them were small men - but they made it work. And it was worth it for the actual rest that they both got, sleeping in each other’s arms. No one commented on the change, though Arthur wasn’t sure if that was because no one cared or because of Dutch and Hosea’s threats. It didn’t matter either way, really. Arthur was just glad to be left alone.

 

The only interesting thing that happened in those waiting days was one morning Jack spotted a dog wandering into camp, and thanks to Dutch’s usual antics, the dog was given the name Cain and welcomed into the gang. Arthur couldn’t help but smile as he watched Jack follow the dog around the camp all day, wide eyed and giggling at everything he did. The next few pages of Arthur’s journal were filled with sketches of Cain and Jack.

 

Four days after she left, Sadie rode back into camp and went straight to Dutch’s tent. She talked animatedly with Dutch and Hosea briefly, before they summoned Kieran to join them and the four of them were bent over a map in Dutch’s tent for a good half hour. The next day Lenny and Javier returned and gave their report to Dutch. Arthur felt a small touch of pride when Dutch motioned for Charles to join them. Arthur trusted Charles to plan them a good route to wherever they were going, and he felt glad that Dutch recognised Charles’ value. Only a few weeks before it would have been Micah at Dutch’s shoulder, and Arthur tried very hard not to think too much about how that would have turned out. All of the years running on his own had taught Charles a kind of caution that Arthur respected deeply, especially paired with Charles’ innate goodness that had always awed Arthur. As he watched Charles talk quietly with the others in Dutch’s tent, Arthur couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, they were going to be able to find a way out of this mess. And that if he really did have some kind of life to live after all this, he was going to get to spend it with Charles. He felt a wave of emotion crash over him and quickly turned his thoughts away from the path he had started down, chewing his bottom lip as he turned his attention back to the saddle he had resting on his hip as he rubbed oil into the old leather. With his head tilted down and his hat pulled low on his brow, he hoped no one would notice the few tears that slipped out before he could blink them back. It was all too much to think about at once. And with all the hope came fear, deep in his gut and pressing against his chest. They still had a long way to go.

 

Near the end of that day, Hosea walked over to where Arthur was watching Jack and Cain splashing in the shore of Flat Iron Lake.

“Hey,” he said, flashing Arthur a grin.

“Hey,” Arthur replied. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I have a plan,” Hosea replied, dipping and lilting his voice into a practiced impression of Dutch. Arthur chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“What is it then?” He asked, following Hosea over to the poker table.

“Montana.”

“Montana?”

“I know it’s not quite California, but I think heading a little further north if going to be good for all of us. There’s also a nice little plot of land there that I have my eye on.” Hosea had the kind of gleam in his eye that Arthur hadn’t seen since before Blackwater. He had missed seeing Hosea get this excited.

“How the hell’d you find land in Montana?” Arthur asked.

“All that work we put into that real estate scam in Blackwater is finally paying off. I picked up a few legitimate contacts, asked the right questions, and found us something that I think will be perfect.” Hosea laid out a few photos on the table, as well as a small map. The photos showed a large, overgrown plain, mountains rippling gently along the horizon line. There was a rough fence marking the boundary of the land, but there were no other structures. The map showed where the old farmhouse once stood, but Hosea explained that it had been taken out in a wild fire a few years ago and the land had been empty since.

 

The more Arthur looked at the photos, the more he realised he could imagine it. Could see them making a home there. Could see an end. He didn’t realise his hands were shaking until Hosea gently touched his arm to get his attention.

“You okay, son?” He asked quietly. Arthur let out a slow breath and dragged his eyes away from the photographs to look up at Hosea.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice soft with awe.

“Well it’s a mess, and we’d have to build everything ourselves, and aint none of us ever really ranched before. But other than all that, yes, it’s perfect,” Hosea chuckled, drawing a fond smile from Arthur.

“You told Dutch ‘bout this?” He asked and Hosea nodded.

“Yes, and he agrees that it’s perfect.” Arthur was relieved to hear that, knowing that convincing Dutch was going to be one of the hardest parts of all this. He was glad Hosea had already handled it.

“There’s one more thing,” Hosea said. “We want it purchased under your name.” Arthur blinked up at Hosea, stunned.

“Me? Why?” He asked and Hosea gave him a fond and comforting smile.

“Most of the money going towards buying the land came from you and jobs you ran. Even a fair chunk of the stuff in Blackwater still came from you. This wouldn’t be happening without you, so it only made sense it should be in your name,” Hosea explained. Arthur felt hundreds of denials and excuses rise into his throat and die on his lips and tongue. He looked down at the photographs once more and felt his heart swell. It could be his, he could make a home for these people who were the only family he ever really knew. It all felt so close, a future he thought he’d never get was now nearly in his grasp. That heavy wave of emotions he had felt earlier that day threatened to crash over him once more and he weighed it all up in his mind. In a way, it did make sense for it to be bought in his name. If it was in Dutch or Hosea’s name, it’d be too much of a risk, they were both far too well known, and their names too uncommon for it to be brushed off as coincidence. And as much as he wanted to deny it, a significant portion of the money did come from him, and he had been the one the last few weeks who had really pushed Dutch to back down and start working towards this plan. As he gently ran his fingers over the photographs, taking in the calm and gentle scenes they depicted, he let it feel real, just for that moment.

He looked up at Hosea, who was watching him calmly, waiting.

“Okay,” Arthur said quietly. Hosea broke into a proud grin and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Excellent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I using Arthur’s low self esteem to avoid having to write all the planning discussions? Yes, yes I am haha.
> 
> Also the last part of this chapter was actually pretty emotional for me to write. Anyone who’s had the chance to leave a toxic situation they never thought they’d escape knows how absolutely overwhelming that can be. Don’t know if I’ve done the complexity of the emotions justice, but it was pretty cathartic and I’m gonna be exploring it more in future chapters.
> 
> Finally, if anyone has suggestions for what the Montana Ranch should be called, let me know! Thank you all for the kind comments you’ve been leaving, they absolutely make my day and really motivate me to continue working on this fic!


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